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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24144244">No Me Arrepiento de Este Amor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamerlort/pseuds/kamerlort'>kamerlort</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Better Call Saul (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Enemies to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:35:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,888</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24144244</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamerlort/pseuds/kamerlort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There is a split second where Nacho realizes that it isn’t the violence that scares him—but rather the unmistakable humanity lurking just beneath the surface.</i>
</p><p>An alternative retelling of Something Unforgivable.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>111</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>No Me Arrepiento de Este Amor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The fact that I wrote this in three weeks should be a testament of my love for these two. I apologize in advance if this seems OOC, seeing as it’s my first time getting a sense of these characters! The story begins with the events of 5x10, with some scenes being reinterpretations with slightly-changed dialogue. A lot of the characterization I had for Lalo came straight from Tony Dalton’s mouth himself. The title of this fic is shamelessly stolen from a song of the same name by Gilda, which I highly recommend you all listen to. Comments and feedback are appreciated as always!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is no fanfare to be had when Lalo slides back into the passenger’s seat of the Javelin, his movements measured and precise.</p><p>Nacho does not want to be the first to speak. Watching the other man as he stares ahead through the windshield, he spares a few seconds to wait for the next inevitable command. Lalo blinks languidly, his lips pressing together as he mulls over his thoughts.</p><p>Nacho folds. “What now?” he questions, trying not to let frustration tinge his words too egregiously.</p><p>Letting his lips part with a huff of air, Lalo answers. “<em>México.</em>”</p><p>There is no further explanation offered. Perplexed by the turn of events, Nacho feels his exasperation grow, needing to pry some kind of elaboration from the other man.</p><p>“Back to the same place?”</p><p>“Nope, change of plans,” Lalo drawls, his words dripping slow as molasses from his mouth. Letting his head fall to the side, he gives Nacho a considering glance, meeting his eyes for only a moment before he adjusts in his seat.</p><p>“Come on, Ignacio, <em>go</em>. We’ve got a long way ahead of us.”</p><p>Nacho has no choice but to start the ignition, staring blankly ahead as he contemplates whether or not his life has now been cut for the offering.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>True to his word, the route they take back to Mexico is unfamiliar.</p><p>A few hours pass before Lalo morphs back into his more amicable persona. Whatever occurred at Goodman’s residence had thrown him off—Nacho is not sure what he had sought there, but a lack of care stops him from contemplating it too much. As far as he knows, Fring is not aware of the misstep in their plans.</p><p>Sweat pools between his fingertips as he clenches the steering wheel. Lalo has turned on the radio to some unfamiliar Spanish station, blasting the music just a fraction too loud for Nacho to bear. He feels his jaw clench and unclench as he takes every turn that Lalo directs him to, cursing the man as he scratches at his chin, half-singing along to the cacophonous lyrics that pour from the speakers.</p><p>Nacho can taste the metallic tang of blood on the inside of his cheek. He gnaws at the skin, imperceptibly digging his cuspids into the tender flesh. He’s sure to only chew at the cheek that faces away from Lalo—struggling to keep his paranoia from the other man, forcing himself to remain stoic. His neck is sore from the effort of staring ahead, his vision blurring as he tries to separate the dirt road from the rippled horizon in the distance.</p><p>Lalo instructs him to take another turn. Nacho works on autopilot, mind racing as he sees a small cottage in the distance. His back is drenched in sweat, the car stifling hot as the sun bakes them from high above.</p><p>When the pair pull up to the ramshackle house, Lalo offers him what could be considered a reassuring smile. His mustache flares above his lips, dark eyes meeting his own as his knowing expression sends a trill down Nacho’s spine.</p><p>Twenty minutes later, they are back on the road again. Nacho’s heart still hammers against his ribcage, body thrumming on the cusp of an adrenaline rush. Despite the blast of air conditioning in this vehicle, sweat pours out across his forehead, trickling down his temple.</p><p>Lalo has kept his spot in the passenger’s seat. Sitting diagonally from the other man, Nacho has been demoted to the back, keeping himself alert as the new driver sends them roaring back out onto the dirt-packed road. The windows are so darkly tinted that looking out of them proves to be an almost fruitless endeavor.</p><p>Nacho tries to keep his eyes set ahead on the leather seat in front of him. A flicker of movement at the corner of his vision catches him, forcing him to meet Lalo’s eyes in the mirror. The skin crinkles near his cheeks as Lalo grins back at him, his gaze unblinking, amused.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It is only when the car lulls to its final stop that Nacho realizes what has happened.</p><p>Lalo springs forth from the vehicle before the brakes are fully set into place. His voice travels past the open door as he saunters away, disappearing from Nacho’s line of sight as he greets a group of strangers.</p><p>The mixture of sounds that caress the shell of his ear has Nacho’s aggravation flaring tenfold. He blinks away the fury, bites back the anger he feels over being dragged to some godless stretch of Mexico.</p><p>Throwing open the car door, Nacho meanders by the window, leaning against the solid frame of metal at his back. Positioning himself away from the opening, he slides his cellphone from his pocket, flipping it open as he stares down at a pair of mocking white words.</p><p>No Service.</p><p>Unable to hide his frustration, Nacho pockets the device and swings around as he hears Lalo calling for <em>Nachito</em> to come on over.</p><p>The initiation that Lalo gives him is far more awkward than Nacho cares to acknowledge. Forcing a tepid smile on his face, he nods politely as the man introduces him to the group of workers, acutely aware of Lalo as he drags a hand across his shoulder. The names all blur together as Nacho feels the heat of the man’s hand burning against him, even after he withdraws it to motion around the semicircle of people.</p><p>Nacho suddenly isn’t as sure as to why he’s here. Nodding along to Lalo’s words, he eyes the picture of domesticity before him, disturbed by the way the people seem to worship his every move. They greet Lalo’s words with smiles and rapt attention, eyes glassy as they stare at him in reverence.</p><p>A more familiar scene unfolds as Lalo terrorizes the youngest man at the edge of the group, dragging Nacho back to reality. The boy makes a break for their things as Lalo embraces him once more, encouraging Nacho to smile, relax, enjoy himself.</p><p>The sound of the heavy iron gates being set back into place is all that Nacho can focus on as he follows Lalo’s lead, certain that the only way he’ll be leaving is if he’s in a body bag.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>A few hours slide by, slower than the cumulus clouds that drag along the sky in rounded heaps.</p><p>Lalo is working on one of his various cars, his arms nearly swallowed up by the various metal traps that surround the Mustang’s engine. Grease stains his fingertips as he calls for necessary tools, tongue pressing against his bottom lip while he meddles with a few loose lug nuts.</p><p>Nacho only half-listens to the instructions that Lalo gives him about meeting Don Eladio, his focus pinned on the cellphone wedged in the front pocket of his jeans. His fingers itch to grab the device, to stampede around the compound, phone in hand, searching for a signal he cannot reach.</p><p>Fring can’t punish him for this. Nacho isn’t a fucking mind reader.</p><p>Lalo seems to sense the distracted energy cascading off of Nacho in waves. Pausing for a moment, he turns his head toward the other man, resting his elbow on the edge of the Mustang’s molding.</p><p>“Hey. Don’t think I don’t see you, eh?” Lalo murmurs, sounding entirely too reassuring for Nacho’s consideration. “I see you. I do. Right now, <em>steady</em> is what we need, you know?”</p><p>Giving a slight nod in response, Nacho turns over Lalo’s ostensibly sincere words. “And if he doesn’t like me?”</p><p>At that, Lalo seems at a loss for words. Staring ahead without really looking at anything in particular, he splits into a well-intentioned grin, shaking his head before glancing back at Nacho.</p><p>“Ah, you’ll be fine.”</p><p>For some strange reason, Lalo sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself over anyone else. Ordering the man to hand him a socket wrench, Nacho feels his exasperation hitting its peak, half-tempted to crack the metal tool against the side of Lalo’s temple.</p><p>Instead, Nacho comes up with a lie. “Um—I gotta hit the head.”</p><p>Lalo lets out a muttered strain of directions in Spanish, not even sparing Nacho a glance until the man has already disappeared into the garage. Sucking in a shuddering breath, Nacho weaves past a few closed-off rooms and into the nearby bathroom, shutting the heavy wooden door behind him with a soft click.</p><p>A precursory glance around the area quells the fear that bubbles in the pit of his stomach. His hands are sticky with apprehension as he pulls out his cellphone, worrying a sliver of skin between his teeth.</p><p>No Service.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>For a moment, all Nacho can do is pace. His boots knock flecks of dirt against the tile flooring, coating the pristine hexagonal slabs in a rusted red film.</p><p>There is no way for him to contact Fring.</p><p>Nacho finds himself clenching his hands into fists. The bathroom’s yellow walls seem to call to him, begging him to smash his knuckles against the grain until he paints it scarlet with his blood.</p><p>His eyes shut out the visceral mental image as Nacho takes a steadying breath. Quirking his head to the side, he listens to the faint sound of horses parading just beyond the window, pounding at the earth in tandem with his frantic heartbeat.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The meeting with Don Eladio goes smoothly.</p><p>Nacho spends the first hour or so trailing behind Lalo as the man puts on a show, shooting the shit with Eladio as they take a tour around the vicinity. Lalo is sure to keep Nacho a few paces behind, having him stepping side by side with Juan Bolsa. When Bolsa meets his eye, Nacho can see the vexation that spreads across the lines of his face, his bushy brows bunched together in quiet annoyance.</p><p>The only time Nacho gets up close to Eladio is when Lalo first introduces him. It all passes by in a blur, Eladio smiling jovially as he stabs his index finger against Nacho’s forehead, joking and wondering how a man such as him could befriend <em>Tuco</em> of all people.</p><p>Beside him, Lalo tenses. The laughter that pours from his mouth trickles to a stop as Eladio grips Nacho’s hand, leading them away from the group and back towards the pool area. Nacho can’t help but match Eladio’s carefree stride, willing himself not to flinch as the man crushes an arm around him.</p><p>As promised, Nacho puts his best foot forward when Eladio sits them down at one of the various poolside tables that litter the patio. Out of the corner of his eye, Nacho can see Lalo lounging on the bench that borders the enclosed area, his dark eyes trained on the pair as Eladio probes him with a slew of questions.</p><p>When all is said and done, Eladio pours Nacho another stiff drink, letting their glasses clink together noisily as he gives a toast for salud. Just as Eladio tips his head back, Nacho can hear Lalo approaching from behind, his shoes tapping noticeably against the pavement. Letting himself partake in his own drink, he watches as Lalo excitedly greets Eladio once more, clapping a hand against his back.</p><p>“You impress me once again, Lalo. Your selection of men is almost as good as your taste in cars,” Eladio jests in Spanish, his white teeth glinting in the sunlight as he laughs.</p><p>Nacho’s stomach twists uncomfortably at the implication behind Eladio’s words. Lalo merely takes it all in stride, chuckling in return as he settles one palm on the swell of Nacho’s shoulder.</p><p>“<em>Verdad, amigo.</em> It’s been good to see you.”</p><p>A few more words of endearment are uttered before Lalo drags Nacho from his seat, exchanging goodbyes with Eladio that cycle on repeat for a solid ten minutes. By the time the pair extricate themselves from the patio, the sky is painted a deep, solid red. Nacho allows his body to finally sink in exhaustion, puttering along beside Lalo as he stares out at the setting sun.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It’s well past midnight when they arrive back at Lalo’s place.</p><p>Nacho feels as if his skull is about to split open. He hasn’t slept a wink in nearly two days, his eyelids dragging downward as he wobbles on unsteady knees. Earlier that day, Lalo had given him vague directions to the room he’s supposed to be staying in, lying somewhere among the maze of dark hallways that sprawl throughout the quiet house.</p><p>Meandering around the main corridor is a much safer option than sleeping, Nacho decides. Lalo is nowhere to be found—having seemingly vanished into thin air just as soon as he had sent the other man off on his own. Willing himself to stay alert, Nacho paces down the foyer, following a distant light that glows just past the dining room.</p><p>To his left, the kitchen is drenched in shadow, black smudges of darkness spreading out across the granite countertops. A few piercing beams of light unfurl from underneath the wooden cabinets, a golden glow that haloes the stark tenebrosity.</p><p>Nacho stands silently, considering the stillness of the scene before him, feeling the sweat collect at his spine. Turning back the way he came, he ambles down the hallway, passing the glass-paneled doors that lead out into the backyard.</p><p>A flicker of movement from straight ahead forces him to freeze where he stands. In the distance, one of Lalo’s guards steps out into the lowlight, his index finger lightly caressing the trigger of his rifle. He meets Nacho’s eye with a knowing gaze, nodding back at the other man before he disappears behind another wall, taking no heed of Nacho’s actions.</p><p>Nacho lets out a shuddering breath, unaware he had even been holding it in. Feeling stifled, he wraps one hand around the nearby doorknob, tearing open the back door and stepping out into the brisk chill of night.</p><p>Surprisingly, a soft glow emanates just past the side of the house. It flickers lazily across the gnarled trees that line the garden, beckoning to Nacho as he moves forward on uncertain feet.</p><p>Rounding the corner, Nacho comes to a stop.</p><p>“Hey,” Lalo calls out, lounging near the smoldering firepit that sits atop the wooden patio. The expression on his face is one of muted surprise, his dark eyes locking onto Nacho’s frozen figure with growing interest.</p><p>“Hey,” Nacho returns uneasily, eyeing the flickering fire with a sense of quiet dread. A stab of fear rocks him as he quickly realizes he has no explanation to offer to Lalo as to why he’s outside, sneaking around the man’s yard.</p><p>Nacho’s unease grows as Lalo makes no move to question him. Jerking his head towards the empty chair beside him, he orders Nacho to take a seat. An amused grin settles in on his face as Nacho scuffs the deck with his boots, taking his time.</p><p>Lalo plucks a beer from the nearby container before Nacho has even settled into his seat. Staring into the fire’s depths, he tries to ignore the stare that Lalo bores into the side of his skull, apprehension twisting low in his gut. The carbonated hiss of the bottle being opened drifts past his ears, a delicate crackle that mirrors the fire’s own.</p><p>“Hey, you did good today, huh?” Lalo quips, pressing the cold swell of the bottle into Nacho’s grasp. He gestures to the house with a distracted flick of his hand. “Tomorrow, I’ll show you around.”</p><p>Nacho finds himself at a loss for words as he stares down at the drink in his hand, debating on whether or not to actually take a swig.</p><p>“When you go back up north, you’re gonna be halfway to being a Salamanca, eh?”</p><p>At that, Nacho feels a sliver of unexpected surprise trickle through him. Confusion over what Lalo means has him scrambling to respond, choosing to nod back in faux agreement.</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>Lalo seems to take Nacho’s words at face value. Swallowing down another mouthful of beer, he stretches out along the lounge chair, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. The ease of his actions puts Nacho on edge, and he quickly decides that he would rather not endure this situation while sober.</p><p>“Another night owl, huh?” Lalo questions suddenly, sinking further into his seat. “You don’t sleep?”</p><p>The reality of the man making small talk with him hits Nacho like a well-timed punch. He struggles to find the ability to speak, his tongue feeling swollen against his teeth as he shakes his head.</p><p>“Not tonight.”</p><p>“Yeah, I never sleep much,” Lalo murmurs in agreement. The inflection of his voice is low, seemingly contemplative as he continues to bask in the glow of the fire. “An hour, maybe two. It’s enough.”</p><p>A spark of anger ignites somewhere in Nacho’s chest. Continuing to stare down the neck of his bottle, he finds himself clenching around the glass, wondering why the fuck he’s even out here.</p><p>“When it’s like this... that’s when I can think.”</p><p>Lalo lets his head fall over the back of his chair. Making no attempts to respond, Nacho continues to stare blankly ahead, his thoughts suddenly muddled by the prospect of Fring doing god-knows-what on the other side of the border.</p><p>“I get my best ideas when everybody else is asleep,” Lalo interrupts, not keen on letting the conversation die out. “Some people, they call it a curse. I like it.”</p><p>Nacho finds himself shrugging at Lalo’s words. He eyes the enormous metal door that sits off to their left, the only obstacle between him and the unforgiving desert of rural Mexico.</p><p>“And what’s your excuse, Nachito?”</p><p>A shiver travels down Nacho’s spine. Snapping his head to the side, he meets the other man’s curious gaze.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Lalo smiles, having won the battle into getting Nacho to speak. “Why are you out here, trying to stay awake? I can see you’re tired, Ignacio. I know you haven’t slept.”</p><p>Nacho finds himself bristling at the other man’s artificial concern. His tongue flicks out against his bottom lip, wetting the chapped skin as he carefully mulls over his response.</p><p>“Maybe I just wanted a drink.”</p><p>Lalo lets out a piercing laugh, the sound abnormally loud in the relative quiet of night. Leaning forward with his entire body, he drags one finger across the trough of his cheek as he peels off into a fit of giggles.</p><p>“You got me,” Lalo answers, sounding labored as he settles a hand on the cusp of his knee. “I always knew you were hiding a good sense of humor, Ignacio.”</p><p>Nacho isn’t sure how to respond. Lalo lets out a few remaining strains of laughter as he adjusts in his seat, finally meeting the other man’s eyes with a subdued grin.</p><p>“In the bar, bottom shelf, decanter. That’s the good stuff.” His smile grows wider as Nacho tips his head to the side, eyeing Lalo as the man holds up his fingers. “Two glasses. If you wanna drink, then we’ll drink for real.”</p><p>Astonishment has Nacho stalling in his chair for a moment. Blinking twice, he rises from his seat and does as Lalo instructs, sneaking back into the house with his fists clenched tightly at his sides.</p><p>When Nacho returns, he can almost swear that Lalo has not moved an inch out of place. The man watches him as Nacho approaches the modest table that rests between them, setting the bottle of cognac and two glasses down.</p><p>“You ever had <em>Louis Trece?</em>” Lalo questions, reaching forward and popping off the crystal stopper.</p><p>Nacho shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”</p><p>“Ooph, you’re in for a treat,” Lalo murmurs lowly, sounding excited. Ushering out a couple fingers of brandy, he extends one of the glasses towards Nacho, his smile now one of genuine delight.</p><p>With a newfound timidity, Nacho grasps the drink in one quavering hand. Willing himself to remain steady, he meets Lalo’s gaze head on, momentarily lost in the burning dance of light across his pupils.</p><p>Lalo raises his own drink. “To sleep, and those who need it.”</p><p>Nacho lets him silently hang for only a moment. “To sleep,” he mutters, gently clinking the rims of their glasses together.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Nacho wakes up the next morning with a vicious, pounding headache.</p><p>Somehow, he managed to find his way into one of the various empty rooms that litter throughout Lalo’s house. Compared to the hallways and foyer, this room is relatively sparse in appearance—an armoire, a bed, and an oblong dresser are all that decorate the enclosed space.</p><p>The sheets beneath him are still tucked into place. Glancing down at himself, Nacho notes with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment that his boots are still planted firmly on his feet, hanging just off the edge of the mattress.</p><p>A fuzzy recollection of memories begin to form as he drags a hand across his face. Not much had happened after Lalo treated them to the bottle of cognac. For some odd reason, however, Nacho can’t seem to remember walking back to the room and settling in for the night.</p><p>Twisting onto his side, he eyes the slivers of sunlight that stream between the wooden blinds. An unnerving calm washes over him as he listens to the various muted sounds that travel throughout the house, mixing with the chatter of birdsong just outside the window.</p><p>It’s an absolute hell to endure the peaceful scene before him.</p><p>Nacho isn’t sure why he even bothers to pluck his cellphone from the pocket of his crumpled jeans. When he flips the phone open, he notes with a detached interest that the screen remains a solid black. Lifeless.</p><p>Nacho closes his eyes. He can feel the frustated tears bubbling beneath the surface as he holds the dead cellphone close to his chest, cradling it with one shaking hand.</p><p>He recites a mantra in the back of his mind. <em>Fring won’t do anything. Fring won’t do anything. Fring won’t do anything.</em></p><p>The man had instructed Nacho to do whatever it took to get Lalo on the other side of the border. Nacho has suffered two bullets for this fucking family, burning down chicken restaurants and risking his life for a few shitty ounces of meth that were better off being carted to the DEA.</p><p>Fring can’t do shit.</p><p>Nacho peels himself off the mattress, deluding himself into thinking he’s convinced of his father’s safety—convinced that Fring hasn’t already sent someone to the upholstery shop, putting a bullet in the head of whoever they found there.</p><p>When he finally has his wits about him, Nacho exits the room and meanders around the doorway. His head is still throbbing, eyes bleary as he wavers in place, feeling like he’s taken a baseball bat to the temple. His clothes are wrinkled, reeking of stale sweat with a hint of brandy.</p><p>In the distance, Nacho can hear the telltale sound of people preparing themselves for the day. A litany of soft voices echo past the long hallway, carrying with them the heated scent of eggs frying on the griddle.</p><p>Nacho’s stomach turns at the thought of eating. Rubbing a palm against his eyelids, he steels himself and makes his way towards the kitchen, disturbed by the fact that he’s already learning the layout of the house.</p><p>As expected, the kitchen is a scene of bustling activity. A woman—one that Nacho recognizes, but can’t seem to remember the name of—hunches over the stovetop, her wrinkled fingers wrapped around the handle of a flat spatula.</p><p>To her right, Lalo animatedly plates his own breakfast. Nacho stalls when he sees him, watching as he whistles playfully, his attention seemingly focused on adding a spritz of salt to his eggs.</p><p>“<em>Cómo quieres tus huevos, Ignacio?</em>” Lalo calls out, not even bothering to turn and face the other man.</p><p>Nacho folds his hands in front of him, nauseated in his slightly-hungover state. “I’m not hungry, thanks.”</p><p>His response causes Lalo to turn on his heel, fixing Nacho with a scrutinizing stare. “Don’t be ridiculous—Yolanda’s food is to die for.”</p><p>Finding himself even less enthused about eating, Nacho decides to refrain from protesting. Sauntering past the iron stovetop, Lalo swoops in and directs Nacho to the line of chairs at the countertop, setting his own plate down before him.</p><p>“We’ve got a very busy day planned ahead of us,” Lalo murmurs as he takes a seat, motioning for Nacho to join him. “You need to make sure you keep your energy up.”</p><p>Hesitating for only a moment, Nacho pulls out the chair to Lalo’s left. Just a few inches in front of him, an antique knife block is perched precariously close to the granite edge.</p><p>“What are we going to be doing?” Nacho questions, trying not to stare too closely at the warped handle of a carving knife.</p><p>Lalo reaches for a bottle of <em>huichol</em>, breaking out into an impish grin. “It’s a surprise.”</p><p>It takes everything in Nacho’s power not to roll his eyes. Lalo seems far too giddy for someone who had been pounding down bottles of hard liquor not even ten hours ago—an observation that makes Nacho’s own head throb between his ears.</p><p>After taking a few generous bites of his breakfast, Lalo reaches for the stack of cutlery that lies on the other side of the countertop. Adjusting in his seat, he selects a fork and turns to face Nacho, still smiling jovially as he offers the utensil.</p><p>“C’mon, Nachito. I won’t leave you alone until you take a bite,” Lalo says with a lilting tune. He pushes his own plate towards Nacho, slow enough to make the offering seem far more dramatic than it is in reality.</p><p>Nacho looks the man square in the eye, feeling a muscle twitch at his temple. Forcing himself to not rip the fork from Lalo’s hand, he glances down at the pile of fried eggs, drowning in a sea of red sauce and cilantro.</p><p>Lalo’s smile seems to grow wider as Nacho deliberately cuts his share from the opposite side of the plate, far away from where Lalo has worked his own considerable dent. The scrutiny of his gaze makes Nacho feel bashful as he lifts the fork to his mouth, avoiding Lalo’s gleeful stare.</p><p>Nacho likes to think that the only reason he’s folded so easily is because he doesn’t want to offend the little old lady still stewing over a cast iron skillet. Chewing carefully, he finally meets Lalo’s exuberant expression, setting his fork down with a slight nod.</p><p>“<em>Qué piensas?</em> It’s good, no?” Lalo questions, pulling the plate back towards him. “I told you, Yolanda is the best cook in Chihua. I’m gonna make sure you’re staying well fed while you’re here.”</p><p>A shiver travels down Nacho’s spine. The implication of this being an extended stay in not unfound, and he finds himself glancing back towards the block of knives, anger brewing in the pit of his stomach.</p><p>Lalo takes no heed of Nacho’s inner turmoil. Downing a few more forkfuls of food, he leans back with a self-satisfied grin, wiping down his chin with a crumpled white napkin.</p><p>“<em>Bien.</em> Well, while I go make some necessary preparations, why don’t you go get yourself cleaned up? Yolanda will find you some clothes to change into.”</p><p>Nacho gives a forced smile to the woman as she drifts past them, wiping down a crystal glass. Lalo, patting Nacho amicably on the back, rises from his seat not a moment later.</p><p>“You can use my shower if you’d like,” he calls over his shoulder, setting his plate down next to the sink. “I’ve got all the good stuff, because I don’t trust these bastards not to steal my shampoo.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Nacho quickly interjects. “Any bathroom is fine.”</p><p>Throwing a towel over his shoulder, Lalo tuts in disapproval. “Don’t be so modest, Ignacio. When you’re done, I’ll have Ciro show you the grounds.”</p><p>Nacho bites the inside of his cheek. Turning to his left, he watches Yolanda as she ambles past the archway, motioning for Nacho to join her. Taking a deep breath, he ignores the airy whistles from behind him, intent on spitting in the man’s shampoo bottle if the situation calls for it.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The promise of a warm shower is a saving grace for Nacho’s crumbling sanity.</p><p>Yolanda is sure to hand Nacho a stack of what he presumes to be Lalo’s own clothes, no longer in the man’s casual rotation. Colorful button-ups that are far too flashy for Nacho’s taste litter the mound, now resting in a haphazard pile on top of the wooden dresser in his temporary room.</p><p>The woman seems to take some semblance of pity on Nacho, for she makes sure to throw in a few articles of clothing that could be described as “neutral.” Nacho is grateful of the fact that the shirt he had borrowed for the meeting with Don Eladio is nowhere to be found, presumably already shuttled away as laundry to be dealt with. In the back of his mind, Nacho is certain that Lalo had picked that piece personally. It makes Nacho’s stomach twist with unease, mixing with a sort of prickling heat that he can’t even begin to describe.</p><p>When Yolanda leads him up a flight of nearby stairs, Nacho feels his apprehension grow considerably. The landing of the second floor is stretched out in the shape of a square, leading to what Nacho presumes to be Lalo’s room. This part of the house is deathly quiet, tucked away from the bustle of liveliness downstairs.</p><p>Nacho holds his breath as the older woman gently pries open the wooden door. The darkness that greets them is almost impenetrable, a solid blanket of shadows that Nacho cannot pierce with his eyes alone.</p><p>Yolanda quietly urges him to step forward. Biting down on his irrational fear, Nacho follows closely behind as the woman weaves her way through the darkness, blindly finding her way as if she’s made this journey a thousand times.</p><p>The bathroom is far larger than Nacho expected. As the lights flicker on, the sight of a large tub near the back of the room catches his eye. It looks more like a jacuzzi than any normal tub—grandiose in appearance, the kind of eyesore that only men such as Lalo would enjoy.</p><p>Nacho finds himself incensed at the thought of Lalo using it. A mental image spews forth from his mind, the man sitting smugly with a glass of brandy in one hand and a cigar in the other. Bubbles up to his ears.</p><p>
  <em>Fucker.</em>
</p><p>Yolanda places a few extra towels on the nearby countertop. A see-through glass shower sits directly in front of them, large enough to fit a whole parade of people in it if necessary. Chewing the side of his cheek, Nacho watches the woman as she instructs him how to use the various nozzles and handles, smiling amicably as she does so.</p><p>It’s only when Nacho has the room to himself that he’s able to relax. Glancing around the golden walls, he’s almost hesitant to even remove his shirt, wary of Lalo’s presence in all the little details that he sees.</p><p>Nacho makes sure the door is locked before he discards his clothes. He deliberately doesn’t look at the still-wet toothbrush near the sink, or the occasional splatters of water on the floor. Twisting the knob of the shower on, he relishes the feeling of hot water rushing down his back, soothing the aches and pains that scatter down his spine.</p><p>As tempted as he is at taking a dig back at Lalo, he finds himself shockingly unable to spit in his shampoo bottle. The various products that line the shower wall are all brands that Nacho has never even heard of—bottles and tubes that are sleek in design, signaling prestige.</p><p>Nacho hates it. He hates standing beneath the showerhead, surrounded by Lalo’s things, open and barren and plagued by the fear that this is all for nothing. Closing his eyes, he lets the water sting him as he cranks the knob to full heat, resting one hand against the slick tile.</p><p>For once, Nacho lets himself be consumed by the rush of water around him. Leaning his head back, he focuses on the feel of the droplets cascading down his neck, making their way towards the yawning drain beneath his feet. He steals a little more soap than necessary, silently hoping that Lalo takes note of it in the future.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The grounds of Lalo’s house are far more expansive than Nacho initially believes.</p><p>He makes quick work of getting himself prepared for whatever task it is that Lalo is so keen on keeping a secret. As promised, the man named Ciro is waiting for him in the foyer, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he sizes Nacho up with his gaze.</p><p>It takes the pair a couple minutes to make their way to the other side of the compound. Nacho notes with a hint of confusion that a stable seems to be what they’re headed towards, half hidden behind a modest grouping of warped trees.</p><p>Ciro pauses just outside of the stable door, fixing Nacho with a blank stare. Skirting past him, Nacho takes in a steadying breath and sets one hand on the metal latch. Giving himself a few seconds to collect his bearings, he pushes the door open and heads inside.</p><p>On the other side of the stable, two sliding doors are pushed far apart. A flood of sunlight streams through the opening, setting the whole building aglow, washing it with late-morning warmth.</p><p>“Ah, Nachito! You clean up nice,” Lalo calls from one of the box stalls. Nacho has to swing his gaze around to spot him, his head poking out above the wooden door. “Come on over! I want you to meet someone.”</p><p>A funny feeling settles low in Nacho’s gut. For a moment, he thinks the other man is messing with him, eyeing the way Lalo’s head disappears behind a line of metal bars.</p><p>Setting his hands on his hips, Nacho makes his way towards the stall. Caught by momentary surprise, he finally takes notice of the horse hidden near the back, it’s rusty brown coat blending well into the grain of the wood.</p><p>Lalo is crouching next to the animal when Nacho finally slinks into view. The man has one bristled brush in his grip as he gently tugs it across the horse’s tail, more gentle in his movements than Nacho has ever seen before.</p><p>“Ignacio, this is Máximo. He’s been putting up with me for a long, long time.”</p><p>Nacho watches the bizzare scene unfold with a bewildered expression. Lalo turns to face him, acutely aware of Nacho’s silence and taking it in with a grin.</p><p>“Hand me that curry comb,” Lalo orders nonchalantly, pointing to a slew of various brushes scattered atop a metal box. Nacho turns his head to the side, staring at the colorful array of tools with disdain and wondering why Lalo thinks he knows what the fuck a curry comb is.</p><p>Nacho decides to play along with whatever game Lalo is trying to initiate. Selecting one of the stranger looking brushes, he extends it out for Lalo to take, watching the man’s expression as his eyebrows raise in surprise.</p><p>“Don’t tell me you’ve never handled a horse before,” Lalo murmurs, plucking the tool from Nacho’s grip. “I knew you were a city boy, but I thought your <em>papá</em> might’ve taken you down south a time or two.”</p><p>A swell of fury hits Nacho at the mention of his father, so intense that it leaves him breathless. Biting down on his bottom lip, he fixes Lalo with a cold stare, blood thrumming at the thought of slamming a fist against the man’s temple.</p><p>“It’s been a while,” Nacho grounds out, not trusting himself to say anything more.</p><p>To his surprise, Lalo turns back towards the horse and lets out a laugh. “Yeah, well, why don’t we fix that?”</p><p>Nacho blanches. Staring blankly at the other man, he waits for Lalo to elaborate, digging his nails into his palms.</p><p>“While I get Máximo ready, you can go pick out what horse you wanna ride.”</p><p>Another wave of confusion leaves Nacho floundering. “What?”</p><p>“I want to show you around the grounds,” Lalo says, the smile evident in his voice. “You’ve still got Albuquerque on your mind, Ignacio. That big brain of yours needs a break.”</p><p>Nacho feels as if he’s in the midst of a fever dream, watching Lalo as he drags the strange-looking comb across the horse’s side. Shaking his head at the sight, Nacho turns on his heel, willing himself to follow along regardless.</p><p>This is by far the most fucked up situation a Salamanca has ever put him in. Nacho finds that it’s only fitting that Lalo is the mastermind behind it all.</p><p>On the other side of the stable are three other box stalls that remain untouched. Swiping a finger across one eyelid, Nacho approaches the stall at his left, peering through the metal bars with detached interest.</p><p>A beautiful horse stares back at him, black as night. The mane of hair that cascades down its back is somehow even darker, gleaming lustrously under the sun’s piercing streams.</p><p>As if on cue, Nacho hears Lalo approach from behind. “Ah, you’re interested in Alma? That’s a good choice.”</p><p>Nacho shrugs, not bothering to meet Lalo’s gaze. “I suppose.”</p><p>Lalo makes quick work of opening the stall door. Sauntering into the wooden enclosure, he directs Nacho to follow his lead, his boots nearly swallowed by a mound of hay.</p><p>“Alma is the baby of the group,” he says with a tinge of softness. “She’s only three, but we started breaking her in when she was eighteen months.”</p><p>Nacho finds himself drawn to the sleek shine of her mane. Reaching a hand forward, he drags his fingers across her neck, just barely grazing the surface of her coat.</p><p>“So you’ve never ridden before, eh?” Lalo questions, patting Alma on the back. He clucks in disappointment, shaking his head as he considers his words. “You spend too much time around the city, bro.”</p><p>“I’ve ridden before,” Nacho interrupts, annoyed by the man’s derisive tone. “When I was a kid.”</p><p>Lalo’s grin grows even more intense. “Then I guess it’s time for you to get back on it—<em>volver a llevar las riendas, no?</em>”</p><p>Patting Nacho on the shoulder, Lalo turns around and momentarily exits the stall. When he returns, he carries with him a black felt hat, the material curved elegantly at the sides.</p><p>“Believe me Ignacio,” Lalo contends with a grin, placing the hat squarely on Nacho’s head. “You’re gonna enjoy yourself.”</p><p>Nacho is left speechless by the action. The hat fits snugly over his scalp, warmed by Lalo’s former grip. Blinking slowly in response, he watches the other man as he eagerly sets the horse’s saddle into place, unsure of how he’s going to make it through the remainder of the day.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Riding a horse is far more terrifying than Nacho remembers.</p><p>For starters, Nacho hasn’t mounted a horse in over twenty years. When Lalo finishes setting up Alma, he pokes fun at whether or not Nacho is going to need a stool to get up on her back, sounding far too eager at the very prospect.</p><p>Nacho deals with his inexperience in the same way he deals with the Salamancas. Putting on an air of confidence, he manages to clamber onto the horse’s back with relative ease, impressing Lalo as the man whistles at him appreciatively.</p><p>Lalo somehow finds another ridiculous cowboy hat to wear. His is far fancier than the one Nacho begrudgingly keeps on his head, a cream-colored variant that Nacho is sure costs a fortune. When they exit the stable, the sun is already high above them, baking the earth that lies beneath their feet.</p><p>Sweat pours from his scalp as Nacho grips the reins, trying to balance himself. Lalo is just a few paces ahead of him, smiling wildly as he guides them across the paddock, gesturing to an assortment of random buildings on the other side of the fence.</p><p>Nacho can only halfheartedly pay attention to the man’s ramblings. The unnatural gait of the horse distracts him, forcing him to squeeze his thighs tightly around the saddle.</p><p>“You alright there, Nachito?” Lalo questions over his shoulder. His words convey a modicum of concern, glazed over by the apparent amusement he’s getting watching Nacho struggle.</p><p>With a kick of his heel, Nacho propels the horse forward. He feels somewhat guilty over shoving his boot against Alma’s side, but the horse doesn’t seem to care too much either way.</p><p>When Nacho slides in next to him, Lalo shakes his head in awe. “Look at you—a natural <em>ranchero.</em>”</p><p>“So what, you’re training me to be a horse handler?” Nacho questions, feeling more brave with his words than he has any right to be.</p><p>“Maybe, maybe not,” Lalo says slyly. “It’s a tempting idea—but I know that Máximo would buck you off in a heartbeat.”</p><p>Lalo lets out a laugh as Nacho adjusts in the saddle. To their right, the dirt trail leads to a small watering hole, carved into the earth from a previous night of rainfall.</p><p>“<em>Ven aqui.</em> There’s a nice patch of grass that the horses can feed off of over here,” Lalo drawls, guiding his horse to the side. Nacho follows the motion with greater ease than before, suddenly feeling as if he may be getting the hang of things.</p><p>When they stop next to the shallow pond, Lalo tips his hat back. “I’m impressed, Ignacio. I didn’t think you’d take to riding so naturally.”</p><p>Nacho finds himself struggling to stay calm as Alma bends her long neck downward, shifting the weight underneath him. Swallowing around a viscous patch of saliva, he meets Lalo’s dark gaze.</p><p>“It’s just like riding a bike, I guess. You never forget how to do it.”</p><p>Lalo’s mustache flares above his upper lip. “Don’t sell youself short. I doubt Don Eladio even knows how to get up on a horse.”</p><p>Letting out an amused huff at the mental image, Nacho’s blood immediately runs cold. Laughing at Lalo’s jokes is something that he’s kept himself clean of since the very beginning, and he quickly scrubs a hand against his lips to disguise the traitorous sound.</p><p>It is, strangely enough, easy for Nacho to fall into step beside the other man. Lalo does a fairly decent job guiding them across the sun-choked pasture, spewing forth bits of trivia that Nacho can stomach for the time being.</p><p>By the time they make it back to the stable, the sky is painted in hues of purple and gold. Nacho’s entire body aches, but he manages to dismount from the saddle with a little more grace than he expected.</p><p>Lalo continues to chatter on about random nothings, guiding his own horse back into the box stall with one hand animatedly pantomiming his words. Nacho is somewhat entertained by the man’s carefree antics, stroking the glossy hair at Alma’s nape as he watches Lalo swing the stall door into place.</p><p>“Well, what do you think?” the man questions, settling his hands on his hips.</p><p>Nacho pauses his hand. “About what?”</p><p>Lalo makes a little noise at the back of his throat, pointing a finger towards the horse. “About Alma. She seems to take to you pretty well.”</p><p>Refraining from readily agreeing with Lalo’s statement, Nacho turns to face Alma directly. Her big brown eyes are framed by a plume of thick lashes, drawing him in as he softly caresses her warm snout.</p><p>“I like her,” Nacho murmurs, the first truthful statement he’s made all day.</p><p>“I thought so,” Lalo replies. Leaning in next to him, he sets one hand just an inch or so away from Nacho’s own. “She’ll be good to you.”</p><p>There’s a certain gentle timbre to Lalo’s voice that catches Nacho’s curiosity. Craning his head to the side, he eyes the man’s face, watching as the lines at his forehead grow soft.</p><p>Lalo is quick to meet his gaze. His smile is subdued, dark eyes searching against Nacho’s own as he drags his hand imperceptibly closer, almost touching their pinkies together.</p><p>Nacho feels frozen under Lalo’s stare. It’s not unlike the one he had endured back at El Michoacáno, when the man was still trying to determine whether or not Nacho was worthy of his trust. It makes Nacho’s stomach flip uneasily, punctuated by a burning heat that spreads out across his skin.</p><p>Lalo doesn’t dare to blink. He continues to stare openly at Nacho, lips pressed firmly together as he raises one finger, pointing it directly between the man’s eyes. With a flick of the wrist, Lalo’s finger bumps up into the brim of Nacho’s hat. His smile splits wide open as it tips back, revealing Nacho’s wide-eyed expression.</p><p>“Why don’t we go get some supper, eh?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It’s well into the night, and Nacho finds himself unable to sleep.</p><p>The rattle of events that replay through his mind keep him awake, tossing and turning on the old coiled mattress. The room is somehow stiflingly hot, forcing Nacho to abandon all layers of clothing, save for his only pair of boxers. Despite the offering from Yolanda, there was no way in hell he was going to let his untouchables pass through Lalo’s washing machine—at least for the time being. </p><p>Splaying out atop the sheets, Nacho turns to face the window at his right. Moonlight pours in through the cracks, casting silver streaks across his arms and legs. Illuminating his skin with a kind of ethereal quality.</p><p>Nacho knows he would give just about anything to go back home. To make sure his father is okay—to get away from the disgustingly warm domicile that Lalo calls his home. The anger and fear that constantly burn at the edge of his mind seem to intensify as he flips onto his back, staring blankly at the stucco ceiling above him.</p><p>It horrifies Nacho to think that this is all a genuine display of trust on Lalo’s part. Thinking back to dinner, the mental image of Lalo helping prepare the food springs forth from the depths of his mind. The man had slaved over the stove right next to Yolanda, crooning along to the radio while he diced tomatoes.</p><p>Nacho is nauseated by the memory. He can deal with Lalo talking about burning men alive, yet he finds it far more difficult to face the man when he acts like he isn’t some diabolic narco, scrounging off of blood money and meth-head desperation.</p><p>His mind rolls back to their conversation from the night before. Nacho wonders whether Lalo is lying awake as well—staring at the same ceiling, pondering a different kind of thought.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>There is little to be said about routine at Lalo’s house.</p><p>The man comes and goes as he pleases, dragging Nacho along for whatever dubious schemes he has planned. By day three of being on the compound, Nacho realizes that the only thing he’s completely sure of is that breakfast starts before eight o’clock.</p><p>Waiting out his time here is excruciating. Nacho doesn’t dare question Lalo as to when he’s going back up north, and doubts that Lalo would even answer him if he had the gall to ask. He’s nothing more than a lackey—reluctantly following Lalo’s lead as he works in the garage or tends to the horses.</p><p>Nacho feels as if he’s going mad with paranoia. Not being in contact with Fring is worse than he ever could have imagined, his sanity hanging on by a ever-dwindling thread. At this point, Nacho is willing to vault over the barbed-wire fence and crawl back to Albuquerque on all-fours if he has to.</p><p>It’s a curious sort of development when Nacho realizes that the best distraction is found in Lalo’s ramblings. The man never seems to shut his mouth, yammering on about things that Nacho can’t even pretend to care about or understand. Whether or not he engages in the man’s conversations matters little to Lalo, knowing that he needs to expunge the stream of thoughts that plague him regardless.</p><p>“Tell me Ignacio,” the man begins, setting down a well-worn toolbox next to his Mustang. “When you worked with Tuco, how often did you see him picking fights?”</p><p>The question has an air of suspicion to it. Nacho folds his arms in front of his chest, narrowing his eyes response.</p><p>“He never started a fight that wasn’t justified.”</p><p>At that, Lalo lets out a whistle. “You don’t even know the half of it, my friend. He once threw a rock at my head because I didn’t let him have any <em>dulces</em> after supper.”</p><p>Laughing at the memory, Lalo swipes a finger across his lip. Plucking a wrench from the toolbox, he turns to face Nacho, smiling mischievously.</p><p>“You don’t talk much about your family. Tell me something about them.”</p><p>Nacho knows that it isn’t a request. Fighting back against a wave of agitation, he shifts his weight to one foot.</p><p>“My parents used to take me to Galeana every summer. We’d visit my mom’s relatives that lived there.”</p><p>“<em>En serio?</em>” Lalo retorts, sounding incredulous. “I can’t even imagine. <em>Cuando eras niño</em>—I bet your pout looked the same as it does now.”</p><p>Nacho lets out a harsh breath through his nose. “I actually had more fun when I was a kid.”</p><p>“Didn’t we all?” Lalo murmurs, throwing a grease-stained hand up in the air. “Growing up—now that’s some tough shit, eh?”</p><p>Judging by the way Lalo handles himself, Nacho doubts that the man had suffered too much in his youth. Being a Salamanca certainly had to have had some perks aside from the messy business of drug trafficking.</p><p>“And you grew up here?” Nacho questions, the words bubbling from his throat before he has the ability to stop them.</p><p>Lalo stops fiddling with the innards of the car. Glancing over his shoulder, he bares his teeth as a newfound grin stretches across his face.</p><p>“I was all over the place, man. Spent some time in California, around the big cities.” Wetting his bottom lip, he huffs out a bark of laughter. “Packed to the brim with those self-righteous <em>gringos</em>.”</p><p>Nacho thinks he can envision a younger Lalo stalking the streets of San Diego, getting himself into a mess of trouble. Meeting his eye, Nacho gives a slight nod of understanding, taking in Lalo’s reminiscent gaze.</p><p>“The food was definitely the worst part, Ignacio. Too much of the fluffy green stuff.”</p><p>Internally, Nacho can’t help but roll his eyes. God forbid.</p><p>When Lalo hunches back over the twisting metal engine, Nacho moves closer to observe the man’s handiwork. His fingers nimbly prod along the various inner-workings, checking the timing chain with a kind of careful eye that Nacho knows he lacks entirely.</p><p>“You think your <em>papá</em> would be willing to do some upholstery work for me?” Lalo questions suddenly, his words punctuated by the occasional grunt.</p><p>Nacho’s stomach twists. His throat seems to close in on itself, trying to sever his ability to speak.</p><p>Somehow, Nacho manages to choke out a reply. “I haven’t talked to him in while. He might be busy.”</p><p>Lalo catches his eye. Raising one eyebrow, he shakes his head in dismay. “Don’t tell me that you’re already so eager to go back up north, Nachito.”</p><p>Nacho’s skin crawls at the questioning tone to Lalo’s voice. Near the back of his mind, the rational part of his brain screams at him that this isn’t a way out—that Lalo is instead setting him up for some kind of trick.</p><p>“I’m not,” Nacho begins, testing the waters. “I just want to make sure things are running as they’re supposed to.”</p><p>Lalo blanches.</p><p>“You think I don’t have everything taken care of?” the man questions, setting one dirtied hand on his hip. The intensity of his stare bores against Nacho’s own, unwavering as he waits for a response.</p><p>Nacho knows that he’s fallen for the trap—hook, line, and sinker. Meeting the incredulous expression on Lalo’s face, he shakes his head in disagreement, taking a cautious step forward.</p><p>“There are people that I could deal with better face to face.”</p><p>Quirking his head to the side, Lalo chuckles. “What, like the Chicken Man?”</p><p>Nacho doesn’t respond. Keeping his gaze level, he watches as Lalo presses his lips together, stretching his smile wide.</p><p>“Think of the next few weeks as a break away from all of that. By the end of the month, you’ll be able to go back and have a nice little reunion with your <em>papá</em>. I’ll keep a careful eye on him—make sure that the business stays good.”</p><p>It’s almost mocking how sincere Lalo sounds as he leans in closer, holding Nacho’s gaze with an air of ease.</p><p>There is nothing to be gained for Lalo to make such promises. Nacho finds himself doubting the honeyed words, his mouth moving faster than his mind can catch up with.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Lalo grins. “<em>La familia es todo.</em>”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>There is something of a celebration to be had later that night.</p><p>Nacho has little else to do besides lie in bed, staring at the ceiling and mulling over his thoughts. When a stranger knocks at his door, it’s already well past midnight. He’s still fully-clothed, and wide awake.</p><p>The stars are far more visible in the spanse of Lalo’s yard than they are in the whole of Albuquerque. Nacho follows one of the unnamed guards that stalk the various hallways, coming to a stop at the same firepit he had shared beside Lalo on his first night here.</p><p>More chairs have been plucked from the inside of the house. The fire seems to pulsate with life as a slew of familiar faces surround it, all chattering excitedly as Lalo surveys them with a grin.</p><p>“Ah, Ignacio!” the man exclaims, splaying his arms wide. “Come on, take a seat.”</p><p>Nacho has no idea what it is that they’re celebrating, but finds that questioning Lalo would prove to be a fruitless endeavor. The universe seemingly has it in for him tonight, since the only seat left is the same one he had occupied last time—right next to Lalo’s side.</p><p>Beers are already being passed around before Nacho settles into his chair. The warmth of the fire is welcoming, keeping the bite of the night breeze away from his bared skin.</p><p>Lalo has already popped open a beer for Nacho, a twist of water vapor expelling from the neck of the bottle as he extends it in his grasp. Giving a curt nod of thanks, Nacho watches the man as Lalo claps his hands together, drawing the attention of the group.</p><p>“<em>Bien.</em> Well, if it wasn’t a good enough excuse to get drunk, I have to say—Cecilio picked a damn good day to have a birthday.”</p><p>A chatter of laughter greets him as Lalo slips into Spanish, rattling on about the man sitting courteously to his left. Nacho comes to learn that today is Cecilio’s sixty-third birthday. He’s surprisingly good-humored as he howls along to the embarrassing stories that Lalo shares, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.</p><p>Nacho watches the scene with rapt attention. The way that Lalo exudes a tenderness for the people that surround him is still too alien for Nacho to endure. An inkling of discomfort grips him as he watches the sea of faces chuckle and smile along to Lalo’s speech, just as enamored with the man as Lalo is with them.</p><p>The display is far too human for such a cold-blooded killer. Nacho cannot fathom that Lalo is a member of the same species as he is.</p><p>A sudden thought arises. Salamanca blood pumps through Nacho’s veins, just as it does throughout Lalo’s. It often keeps him awake at night, wondering if he would have been better off bleeding out against the desert floor, succumbing to his wounds before Marco and Leonel found him. He wonders if Fring would have just let his father live if the situation had panned out that way.</p><p>Another round of cheers brings Nacho back to reality. Lalo gives a toast to Cecilio, remarking that the man doesn’t look a day over thirty. Nacho finds himself raising his own drink, trying not to dwell on the fact that he’s only an outsider. That he doesn’t belong here, among the cheerful faces of Lalo’s people.</p><p>The beer burns across his tastebuds as he tips his head back. Even though it’s the fancy kind that Lalo likes, it leaves a disgustingly bitter taste in the back of Nacho’s throat.</p><p>Lalo seems to have taken his fill of attention for the time being. He backs into his seat with an airy breath of laughter, only taking a modest sip from the perspiring bottle in his hand.</p><p>“Tell me, Ignacio. Was that a good speech?”</p><p>Nacho cannot recall a single detail from Lalo’s toast. Unable to force a smile on his face, he nods nonetheless.</p><p>“Yeah. I’m sure Cecilio loved it.”</p><p>Lalo takes another sip of beer. His eyes are half-lidded, staring quizzically at Nacho as he drops the bottle to his lap. Feeling pinned by his gaze, Nacho finds himself hiding behind his own drink, taking another generous swig as he tears himself away from the man’s unblinking stare.</p><p>The intensity of Lalo’s gaze does not relent. Nacho glances into the smoldering firepit, letting the flames sear across his pupils as he fights to keep himself from focusing on the other man.</p><p>A flicker of movement draws Nacho’s attention. Lalo sets his beer bottle down on the nearby table, leaning forward as he drags a finger across his lower lip.</p><p>One hand snakes over the side of the chair. As he rises from his seat, he pats Nacho twice on the knee, letting the solidness of his grip linger for only a second.</p><p>Nacho finds himself staring at the spot long after Lalo has disappeared. A crackle of heat spreads out from his abdomen, warming his skin far quicker than the fire in front of him ever could.</p><p>Narrowing his eyes, Nacho finishes the remainder of his beer in a single draft.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The hardest part about being away from Albuquerque is fighting the boredom and paranoia that plague Nacho’s mind, keeping him on a constant, teetering edge.</p><p>Occasionally, Lalo does take care of actual business related to the cartel. More often than not, the primary way of doing so is in the form of a phone call. It’s nearly impossible to tune the man’s voice out as it reverberates across the house, but Nacho would be damned if he didn’t at least try.</p><p>Sometimes, when he feels like it’s too much to bear, Nacho goes out for a walk. He finds himself making his way back towards the stables, kicking up a cloud of dirt with his boots. The heat of early July is excruciating, yet it barely registers in Nacho’s mind as he sneaks in through the side door, treading lightly.</p><p>The stable is far cooler than Nacho had expected. He watches the dust as it circulates along a few pockets of sunlight, swept in and out of view by the summer breeze. The peaceful stillness of the scene has him taking the sight in for a second, comforted by how far away this place seems from everything else.</p><p>He’s gotten the hang of opening the stall doors, peeking his head above the wall as he greets Alma with a whistle. Regardless of how little he knows about horses, Nacho can’t help but feel a shred of delight when she looks directly at him, shaking her mane in response.</p><p>Nacho has to dig deep to remember just how to halter the horse. Lalo had shown him how to do so the previous time he had brought Nacho to the stable, chattering on incessantly as Nacho focused mainly on his actions.</p><p>Gripping the leather halter in one hand, Nacho carefully approaches the horse, tilting his head to the side as he holds Alma’s curious gaze. He’s sure to keep his movements steady, reaching one hand to stroke at the straight bridge of her nose. Tipping her head closer, he manages to snake his arm under her chin, feeling the warmth of her body against his back.</p><p>There’s almost a silent communication between the two as Nacho wraps the leather strap around the back of her neck. Holding the rounded edge towards her mouth, he watches closely as Alma gladly accepts it, allowing him to secure everything into place.</p><p>Nacho decides against preparing the saddle. The bulk of Alma’s torso is far more intimidating than her head, and he can’t for the life of him remember if Lalo had even taught him how to saddle a horse. There’s a certain air of ease with just having the leather lead in his grip, allowing him to stay secured to the ground.</p><p>The blast of heat that greets them when Nacho unlatches the stable door is unbearable. Throwing open his button-up, he allows the two halves of his shirt to catch the breeze, his tank-top only a thin layer between the sun and his skin.</p><p>Alma seems to relish the sunbaked heat of the earth beneath her feet. Excitedly twisting her head to the side, Nacho leads her out into the paddock, walking backwards as he loosely handles the harness in his grasp.</p><p>Nacho is unsure of how similar walking a horse is to walking a dog. A sliver of apprehension grips him as he takes in the full height of the animal, sliding a hand across her withers and down across the bow of her back.</p><p>It’s a learning experience. Nacho takes a step back, keeping the length of the leather lead coiled around his right hand. Alma’s interest seems to pique as he lifts his arm upward, pulling the tension towards him.</p><p>A smile manages to break across his face as Alma moves forward. It’s a sort of precursory movement, but Nacho can’t help but think he’s had some kind of involvement in it nonetheless. Keeping his hand raised, he takes a few modest steps forward, watching in fascination as Alma saunters along beside him.</p><p>Under the scathing heat of the sun’s gaze, Nacho decides to lead Alma around the perimeter of the paddock. He’s sure to stay overly cautious, tutting in appreciation as the horse follows his every movement. The kick-up of earth coats them both with a fine layer of dust, but Nacho can’t seem to find any reason to care in the moment.</p><p>For the first time in a long while, Nacho feels at ease. The steady trot of Alma beside him seems to keep his thoughts from drifting to darker places, his attention solely focused on the way Alma’s body moves in tandem with his own.</p><p>It’s the intensity of his concentration that nearly has Nacho jumping out of his skin when he rounds a corner, seeing Lalo watching lazily from behind the nearby fence. The man’s expression is one of great intrigue, his forearms resting against the wooden beam as he twists his head to the side, quirking up one corner of his mouth.</p><p>“<em>Te estás divirtiendo?</em>” Lalo questions, bringing one hand up to scratch at his chin.</p><p>Nacho finds himself stalling at the question. He hadn’t asked Lalo whether or not he was allowed to poke around the stable, let alone take one of the man’s horses out for a walk. Meeting his curious gaze as levelly as he can, Nacho presses forward, comforted by Alma’s sturdy presence beside him.</p><p>“How’s business?” Nacho questions in response, thinking back to Lalo’s exuberant phone call from earlier.</p><p>Lalo huffs out a laugh, ignoring him entirely. “You know, if you told me you wanted to ride, I would have come out to help you—though it seems you already have everything under control.”</p><p>Nacho shrugs. “You were busy.”</p><p>Clucking his tongue, Lalo hoists himself over the wooden fence and settles down on the other side with ease. Approaching Nacho with a contemplative gaze, he reaches a hand out in front of him, patting at the horse’s nose.</p><p>“How’s she treating you?”</p><p>There’s a moment where Nacho feels almost too reluctant to talk. “She’s good,” he manages to edge out, keeping his voice low.</p><p>A sudden buzz of sound catches Nacho by the ear.</p><p>For a moment, the man thinks he’s imagining things. Lalo continues to stroke nonchalantly at Alma’s face as Nacho takes a cautionary step back, focusing his attention on the vibratory noise. The rattling is one of great familiarity, causing Nacho to seize up in terror.</p><p>In the span of a second, Alma’s head snaps to the side, the whites of her eyes rolling over as she takes a panicked step backwards. Nacho’s gaze flits to the ground, his heart leaping into his throat as he sees a dappled black pattern sliding past the horse’s heel.</p><p>Alma lets out a piercing whinny, deafening Nacho as Lalo immediately reaches for his forearm. The man shouts something Nacho can’t quite comprehend, his wide eyes focused on Alma as she rears onto her hindquarters, trapping Nacho against the line of the fence.</p><p>Nacho finds himself coming to his senses not a moment later. A stab of wood and metal dig into his tricep as he desperately tries to keep the lead in his grip, pressing himself against the fence in order to avoid the pounding kicks of Alma’s hind legs.</p><p>Lalo’s face snaps back into view as the horse drags Nacho further away, the weight of her body nearly forcing him over the top rail of the fence. His expression is one of determination, dark eyebrows furrowed as he leaps forward and wrangles the lead from Nacho’s grip.</p><p>It takes a moment for Nacho to realize that he isn’t able to breath. His lungs feel crushed against the barrel of Alma’s flank, forced of all air as he throws one arm across her shaking back.</p><p>Another indistinct shout catches Nacho’s attention. He’s slipping, freed of the barrier of Alma’s body as he nearly falls to his knees. Blinking twice, his eyes manage to focus on the ground beneath his feet, wavering in place as he finally sucks in a steadying breath.</p><p>Everything comes crashing down on Nacho all at once. Shaking his head, his ears ring as he takes in the sight of Lalo pulling him to the side, his fingers a solid connection to the world spinning around him. Alma is tied up to the post just a few feet away, tugging at her harness as she shuffles fearfully in place.</p><p>A few more ragged breaths have Nacho’s vision returning to normal. Letting out a pained gasp, he watches Lalo as the man calmly approaches a dark mound in the distance, coiled in a heap near a patch of feathergrass.</p><p>The rattlesnake seems to be momentarily stunned, for it allows Lalo to approach it without a signal of warning. It shrinks in on itself, a gnarled mess of scales that writhe back in fear as Lalo stalks forward, eyeing the creature with a solemn gaze.</p><p>For a moment, Lalo stands silently, considering the animal before him with a sort of sick fascination.</p><p>Nacho recoils as the heel of Lalo’s boot slowly presses down on the jut of the snake’s head. There is no anguish to be heard, yet the sickening crunch of bone underfoot has Nacho’s stomach twisting in revulsion.</p><p>Lalo tips his head to side, keeping the swell of his boot pressed firmly over the animal’s head. The rattle at its tail is unresponsive, nothing more than a decoration that adorns it’s lifeless corpse.</p><p>When Lalo eventually pulls back, he offers a compulsory glance in Nacho’s direction. His forehead is wrinkled, eyes contemplative as he wipes the dust from his fingertips.</p><p>A bloodied bootprint is all that Nacho can focus on as the other man makes his way back towards the stable, towing Alma in his grip.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Nacho finds himself pacing at the entrance of the house, keeping his eyes set out on the paddock in this distance.</p><p>In the back of his mind, he’s aware of the fact that his upper left arm is scraped to high hell. Pushing a hand up towards the wound, he presses down on the wet cut of flesh beneath his fingertips, relishing the slight sting that flows from beneath the skin.</p><p>Lalo comes back from the stable in what could be considered record time, walking briskly as he approaches Nacho with a hardened expression.</p><p>“You’re bleeding,” the man murmurs, more of a curious observation than anything else.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Nacho responds, dropping his hand. “Just a cut, nothing more.”</p><p>Lalo’s lips press together as he takes another step forward. His expression shifts, the lines around his face softening as he shuffles to the side to get a better look at the damage.</p><p>“I’ll have Yolanda grab the supplies,” Lalo says offhandedly, appearing to talk to himself as he ushers Nacho through the door. An inkling of unease trickles down his spine as the man immediately veers off towards the kitchen, ordering Nacho to take a seat.</p><p>The living room is one part of the house that Nacho has zero interest in getting to know better. A massive TV sits in the midst of it all, facing the expensive leather couch that crowds around it. Nacho finds himself sitting at the very edge of a sectional, flexing the muscle at his arm as he continues to prod at the wound.</p><p>There’s an uncomfortable sort of energy that settles across the room. Nacho worries at the inside of his lip, eyeing Lalo as the man rounds the corner, carrying with him a bottle of antiseptic and a bandage.</p><p>Nacho feels himself shiver at the look of displeasure on the man’s face. The usual carefree mask he wears is nowhere to be found, replaced by a hardened look of aggravation that Nacho knows to be serious.</p><p>A shameful heat flushes across Nacho’s skin as Lalo sits next to him, setting the bottle of antiseptic at his feet.</p><p>“Let me see it,” Lalo instructs, eyeing the patch of red that stains Nacho’s sleeve.</p><p>Nacho feels his chest grow tight at the demand. The proximity between them is far too close for comfort, compelling Nacho to meet Lalo’s stony-faced gaze.</p><p>“I can take care of it myself.”</p><p>His words are unfounded as Lalo stares back him, unblinking. “Let me see it.”</p><p>The severity of his tone has Nacho peeling off the button-up not a moment later. Clenching his jaw at the action, the dull ache that greets him almost feels like a comforting distraction to the situation at hand.</p><p>Nacho tries not to jump at the brush of Lalo’s fingers against his skin. Staring ahead at the nearby wall, he wills himself to focus his attention on a random painting, heart hammering uncomfortably in his chest.</p><p>Lalo’s grip is surprisingly gentle as he prods his thumb around the serrated cut. Nacho can see his look of concentration out of the corner of his eye, swallowing as Lalo’s eyebrows furrow deeply in thought.</p><p>A sudden burst of pain hits Nacho as the man presses his thumb against the wound. Snapping his head to the side, Nacho fixes Lalo with an incredulous gaze, watching him as he pulls his hand back, lost in thought.</p><p>Lalo stares down at his thumb and forefinger, rolling a drop of blood between the digits. Tipping his head to the side, he extracts a handkerchief from the pocket of his jeans, reaching down for the antiseptic that sits ominously between his boots.</p><p>Nacho feels like fleeing from the scene, his stomach twisted into knots. The way that Lalo methodically spreads out the peroxide as if this is a normal occurrence makes Nacho wind with tension. He keeps his eyes trained on the man’s hand as Lalo presses the handkerchief against the wound, dabbing softly at the skin.</p><p>There’s a moment where Nacho wonders if Lalo is going to bear down on the wound again. The man’s dark gaze seems to roll along his careful movements, fully immersed in the way the dampened cloth slides across Nacho’s skin.</p><p>Closing his eyes momentarily, Nacho prays that it is all over soon. The feel of the man’s calloused grip is too much for him to bear, flushing him deep with a jumble of emotions that he’s unable to identify.</p><p>When Nacho cracks open his gaze, his heart nearly stops in his chest. Lalo’s eyes are pinned to his right shoulder, staring intently at the pink scar that remains half-hidden behind the strap of his shirt.</p><p>Lalo’s hand slows. His eyes narrow as he continues to inspect the rippled skin, seemingly fascinated by what he sees.</p><p>Nacho jolts slightly as the man raises his left hand, settling it against the jut of his collarbone. Lalo’s movements are unhurried, dragging his fingers across the thin strip of material as it falls to the side.</p><p>The tenderness of the action leaves Nacho reeling in his seat, staring wide-eyed at the other man as his grip imperceptibly tightens. Lalo remains transfixed on the scar, dragging the pad of his thumb across the raised lines of flesh as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.</p><p>Lalo lets out a harsh sigh through his nose, meeting Nacho’s appalled gaze. The intensity of his stare has Nacho’s breath catching in his throat, mesmerized by the hand grasping at his shoulder, warming his skin to the touch.</p><p>And just like that, Lalo smiles.</p><p>Before Nacho can even comprehend what has happened, the strap of his tank top is set back into place as if it had never been moved, digging into the muscle at his shoulder. Lalo strips the bandage from its plastic wrappings, smoothing it over the long-forgotten cut on his arm with a steady hand.</p><p>Nacho is left blinking in confusion as Lalo rises to his feet not a moment later. His dark eyes are decidedly neutral, gazing down at Nacho as his smile seems to stretch in observation.</p><p>Without a word, Lalo turns on his heel and exits the room, leaving Nacho to ruminate on the couch alone.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Something grips Nacho uncomfortably near the center of his chest.</p><p>He paces in agitation across the room, furious at the other man for a slew of reasons he cannot identity. The phantom feeling of Lalo’s hands haunt him, dragging across his flesh and leaving goosebumps in their wake.</p><p>Twisting around, Nacho settles himself along the edge of the bed. His chest heaves with an effort to take in air, rising and falling with each labored breath.</p><p>Another pang of anger hits him. Wrapping a hand over the bullet wound scar at his shoulder, Nacho presses down on it with a bruising intensity, willing the flesh to even out beneath his grip.</p><p>Nothing about the situation makes any sense. Nothing about this entire mess he’s gotten himself into makes any fucking sense. Digging the palms of his hands against his eyelids, Nacho flops back onto the mattress with a heavy sigh.</p><p>Initially, he thought he had understood Lalo’s charade. Out of all the Salamancas, he’s the only one who cares to put on a mask of civility—unlike Tuco or Hector, where violence was always perceptible at the very surface of their faces.</p><p>What Nacho cannot understand is why Lalo bothers with it all. The apparent favors, the way he comes across as seemingly genuine with his words. It makes the bile rise in his throat, bitter to the taste as Nacho settles one hand against his chest.</p><p>He knows that he can deal with the violence. Nacho is not unfamiliar to the reality of death, knowing that his own transgressions weigh heavily on his mind when he remembers just what he’s had to do to get here.</p><p>Thinking back to the way Lalo had gleefully described burning a hotel to the ground makes Nacho writhe.</p><p>There’s a certain sick part of him that wishes the man would be just as ruthless with him in his words, blunt and straightforward. All the flowery promises and amused observations strike Nacho more viciously than they would if Lalo had absolutely no regard for him whatsoever.</p><p>Nacho closes his eyes. He can still feel the lingers of touch against his shoulder, burning into his skin and traveling down towards his abdomen.</p><p>A curl of arousal hits Nacho so suddenly that he jerks upward, digging his hands into the starched white sheets. It dissipates just as soon as he clenches down on the feeling, a sheen of sweat coating his skin in response.</p><p>Nacho realizes for the first time ever that he might be going insane.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Three days pass, as achingly slow as the crawl of summertime heat.</p><p>Nacho finds himself unable to sleep, tossing and turning and willing his mind to put itself at ease. When the faint glow of sunrise scatters through the window, he realizes he’s lost the battle. Nacho has barely slept at all since Lalo had patched him up; keeping him on a teetering edge, rearing to snap.</p><p>Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of his skin. Nacho thinks about Fring, about his father, about the way Lalo had handled him as if he genuinely cared about his wellbeing. It all has Nacho stewing in a mixture of anger and helplessness as he stares at the blank walls that surround him.</p><p>It takes Nacho less than fifteen minutes to shower and dress himself. The house is abnormally quiet in his wake, too early for the typical clamoring of breakfast that usually greets him. Despite his lack of hunger, Nacho ambles down the hallway and towards the kitchen, keeping his steps light, discreet.</p><p>Fate would have it that Lalo leans against the countertop with a cup of coffee in hand. He eyes Nacho, a picture of growing intrigue etched across his face.</p><p>Nacho doesn’t even have the energy to react. He watches silently as Lalo tips the mug back, taking a generous sip without severing his gaze from Nacho’s own.</p><p>The kitchen is still plagued by shadows, the sun not yet strong enough to fully set the room aglow. Nacho continues to stand beneath the man’s stare, debating on whether or not to turn around and leave the kitchen, taking himself as far away from this place as he possibly can.</p><p>Lalo sets his cup of coffee on the counter. “Good morning,” he murmurs, disrupting the peace.</p><p>Nacho feels his nostrils flare in response. Whether it’s a lack of sleep that’s making him feel brave or his own crumbling resolve is irrelevant—he keeps his mouth sealed, biting down hard on his own contempt.</p><p>A single eyebrow is raised as Lalo crosses his arms against his chest. The look of amusement that taints his features only incenses Nacho further, his entire body clenching down on the fury burning inside him.</p><p>“I didn’t know you woke up this early,” Lalo mentions offhandedly. The darks of his pupils burn against Nacho’s own, daring him to refuse the conversation.</p><p>“I couldn’t sleep,” Nacho grinds out, sounding hoarse.</p><p>“And why is that, <em>Nachito?</em>” Lalo questions, the nickname sounding more derogatory than endearing on his lips. His tone echoes a false sense of concern, a theatrical display intended to be seen for what it is.</p><p>The churn of anger that boils inside him has Nacho seeing red, glaring at the other man with a swell of newfound rage. Lalo merely stares back at him, as calm and collected as always, smiling placidly.</p><p>“You know, it feels like you’ve been avoiding me lately. I’m not exactly sure why.”</p><p>Nacho freezes, caught by Lalo’s questioning tone. Pressing his lips together, he watches as the man shoves himself off the edge of the counter, stalking forward at an unhurried pace.</p><p>“I guess I’d just like to know why that might be,” Lalo whispers, stopping just a few inches in front of Nacho’s chest.</p><p>A tendril of fear wraps around Nacho’s heart. He knows that the man is intending to scare the answer out of him, to intimidate him into revealing secrets that Nacho doesn’t fully understand himself. It makes his skin crawl as he stares up at the man’s face, tracing the weathered lines with a sickening pull of fascination.</p><p>The fury inside of Nacho suddenly bursts forth, no longer dammed by paranoia as levelly meets Lalo’s gaze. His teeth cut against his cheek as he lets out a ragged breath, no longer intending to disguise his animosity.</p><p>“Why am I even here?” Nacho spits out, his words a slew of cold hostility.</p><p>Lalo blinks, surprised by the intensity of his question. His head tips to the side as he drags his gaze across Nacho’s face, wetting the bottom of his lip while he stares.</p><p>“Why do you think you’re here, Ignacio?”</p><p>Nacho is unable to produce an answer. He wants to shout out that it’s because Lalo has nobody to trust—that he’s nothing more than a plaything for the man’s sick sense of entertainment. That he’s been carted here under the guise of mentoring; to make Lalo feel like he isn’t some lonely asshole from a shit-for-brains, drug-peddling family, desolate and alone in this arid wasteland of Mexico.</p><p>Nacho isn’t able to say any of that. His skin feels as if it’s on fire, taking with him the last remaining strands of his rationality.</p><p>Suddenly, Nacho’s hand is on Lalo’s chest, pressing intently against the threaded fabric of his shirt. The man doesn’t even flinch as Nacho drags his palm upward, feeling the steady rhythm of Lalo’s heart beneath his shaking fingertips.</p><p>It’s insanity. The thumping beat below his hand is unequivocally human, as tangible as Nacho’s own pounding heart that roars inside his ears. He shakes his head at the feeling of it, genuinely terrified of what he finds.</p><p>There is a split second where Nacho realizes that it isn’t the violence that scares him—but rather the unmistakable humanity lurking just beneath the surface.</p><p>Lalo’s gaze is void of all emotion. Nacho meets it with a crumbling resolve, blood rushing hotly through his veins as Lalo leans forward, just centimeters away from meeting his lips.</p><p>The man is offering him a choice. A sudden swell of trepidation hits Nacho as he stares back at him, focusing on the way Lalo’s heart pumps steadily beneath the tremble of his palm.</p><p>It all moves in a sort of fractured time. Nacho digs his fingers into Lalo’s shirt, pulling him closer as he hovers beneath the man’s lips, feeling the warmth of his breath flutter against his cheek.</p><p>The connection of their lips is something bizarre, inhibiting Nacho’s ability to think as he feels the scratch of Lalo’s mustache against his cupid’s bow. It’s almost chaste, nothing more than a brush of pressure that has Nacho quickly disconnecting with a ragged gasp, acutely aware of just what he’s doing.</p><p>Lalo snakes a hand around his back before Nacho can even react. The firmness of his grip is dizzying as he pulls the man against his chest, his lips a solid burning presence against Nacho’s own.</p><p>It’s overwhelming to his senses. Nacho feels as if the air has been sucked out of his lungs. He clenches his hand into a fist as Lalo presses another kiss against his mouth, testing the way that Nacho opens up beneath him.</p><p>The surge of want that hits Nacho is almost enough to make him do something stupid. Lalo seems far too invested in just barely edging past the surface of his skin, teasing in a way that has Nacho surging up to meet him.</p><p>It quickly turns into a mash of skin and teeth. Nacho feels his stomach twist as Lalo catches the corner of his lip, sliding a hand down towards the jut of his hipbone.</p><p>The slam of a door on the other side of the house forces the two men to break apart. Nacho can feel the heat radiating off of Lalo, flushing him deep as he pants breathlessly, meeting the man’s unwavering gaze.</p><p>Despite the furrow of his brows, Lalo appears completely calm. The skin at his cheeks has a tint of color to it, the graying hair at his forehead having fallen out of place. Staring down at Nacho, he continues to study him, unblinking.</p><p>Nacho feels his heart stutter in his chest as the footfalls of another person echo down the long hallway. Lalo appears more collected than Nacho could even fathom being in this moment, detaching from him with a pensive sort of gaze. He continues to watch Nacho as he takes a modest step back, his arms held loosely at his sides.</p><p>The reality of what has occurred strikes Nacho like a stab to the gut. He recoils at the phantom pain that blossoms from his chest, clenching his teeth together as Lalo continues to stare at him like he’s a fucking sight to behold.</p><p>Lalo doesn’t speak. He seems as if he’s lost in thought, skirting his eyes across the contorted mangle of emotion on Nacho’s face.</p><p>Distantly, the sound of a car pulling up across the gravel pathway can be heard from outside. Nacho knows that it’s business that Lalo has to attend to, some meeting with a nameless individual that is just as unimportant as everything else is in this moment.</p><p>He feels as if his soul is shattering where he stands. Trembling, he clenches his hands into tightly-wound fists.</p><p>When Nacho looks up, his eyes threatening to shed a slew of furious tears, Lalo is nowhere to be seen.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Hours pass, and Nacho waits.</p><p>The room becomes stiflingly hot as morning blossoms into the blistering heat of midday. Sunlight cuts across the wooden floorboards, thick lines of pale gold that are arranged in neat, careful rows.</p><p>Nacho feels as if he’s going to be sick. His heart continues to pound against his ribcage, keeping him in a rush of adrenaline-fueled panic.</p><p>Fring is going to kill him. He’s going to have Nacho’s throat slit, his limbs crushed, his body dismembered.</p><p>
  <em>Fring is going to put a bullet in his father’s head.</em>
</p><p>Nacho drags himself to his feet, pacing madly, his thoughts consumed by images of violence. He can already imagine it—Fring standing over his body as he flays him from head to foot. Nacho can smell the stench of death in his nostrils, making the bile rise in the back of his throat.</p><p>He wonders what the fuck he’s gotten himself into.</p><p>The scene continues to replay in Nacho’s mind, a sick sort of projection that never seems to end. Nacho shuts his eyes to the visceral image of Lalo standing over him, staring at him with the same dark gaze that terrifies Nacho as much as it excites him.</p><p>There is no excuse to be made for what Nacho has done. There’s no endgame, no way that he can possibly spin this in order to justify his actions. It’s all just a mess of bad choices.</p><p>Nacho hates the way his skin burns at the memory of Lalo’s grip around him, how he can still feel a slight pressure against his lower back. Digging his nails into his palms, Nacho twists around once more, staring at the wooden door before him.</p><p>Lalo doesn’t return until the sun has already dipped far below the rugged desert horizon.</p><p>A clamor of sound from across the house has Nacho wrapping one shaking hand around the brass doorknob, throwing himself out into the darkened hallway. He can hear the way Lalo’s voice rises above the others, listening to the way he greets his people with a boisterous, cheerful energy.</p><p>Nacho stands silently, waiting.</p><p>It only takes around a minute before Lalo steps out into view. The overhead lights cast dark shadows across his face, obscuring him as he stops at the very end of the hallway.</p><p>Lalo stares ahead as if he knows that Nacho has been waiting for him. He’s statuesquely still, an impenetrable force that Nacho doesn’t dare try to move closer towards.</p><p>After a moment of consideration, Lalo turns, making his way towards the stairs.</p><p>A few deep breaths are all that Nacho has to rely on. Swallowing painfully around the lump in his throat, he moves forward on unsteady legs, following Lalo’s lead.</p><p>The man doesn’t wait for him to catch up. By the time Nacho ascends the long staircase, he’s already disappeared into the only room on the second floor. One of the double doors is cracked open, revealing a sliver of muted light.</p><p>Nacho feels his mind swimming. He can taste the salty tang of sweat against his upper lip, can feel the individual rivulets that travel down the small of his back.</p><p>Tipping his head back, Nacho closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath. His stomach is nothing more than a bundle of nerves, turning the lower half of his body numb.</p><p>Nacho pushes himself in Lalo’s room without a second thought.</p><p>The sound of water gushing from the spout can be heard at his left. Lalo is in the bathroom, his lack of presence calming Nacho only incrementally.</p><p>A single lamp washes the room in a pale, orange glow. It’s far larger than Nacho originally thought, having been unable to see its full extent before. The room is more oblong than it is wide, the decor an afterthought to the abundance of available space that encompasses it.</p><p>Despite the gaudiness of the rest of the house, Nacho is surprised to find that Lalo’s room is decidedly more modest. Nearly all of the furnishings are made of solid wood, a dark grain that contrasts nicely with the faded yellow walls. Nothing of sentimental value seems to exist within the space, each and every surface barren; a picture of sterile cleanliness. Only a faded Zapotec rug spread out across the floor displays a pop of Lalo’s personality.</p><p>Nacho shivers at the lack of humanity to be found. Even the grandiose headboard that stretches towards the ceiling seems lacking, an ornament that provides no sense of comfort or familiarity. It’s all a picture of unexpected restraint.</p><p>The rush of water that filters through Nacho’s ears comes to an abrupt stop. His heart leaps into his throat as Lalo exits from the bathroom not a moment later, wiping his hands on a salmon-colored hand towel.</p><p>While Lalo pays him no mind, Nacho becomes acutely aware that he’s still meandering within the doorway. Taking a cautious step forward, he closes the double doors behind him with a soft click, sensing the other man’s stare against his skin.</p><p>Nacho finds that it’s far more difficult than he expected to meet Lalo head-on. Standing with his arms folded behind his back, he lets out a harsh huff of air, blinking twice before he’s able to look at the other man’s face.</p><p>A single hamper sits beside the bathroom door. Lalo tosses the dampened towel away, his lips twisted in a wilting frown as he continues to observe Nacho, his expression turning into one of suspicion.</p><p>The fear that plagues Nacho only grows beneath Lalo’s tempering gaze. He tries to keep his chin up as the man narrows his eyes, the lines of his face pulled taut across his skin.</p><p>“Is this what you really want?” Lalo questions, his voice sounding large in the vast expanse of the room.</p><p>Nacho feels a muscle twitch against his temple. He slides one hand into the back pocket of his jeans, taking a few more wary steps towards Lalo. Wracking his brain for an answer proves to be a futile endeavor as he stops just a few paces away, staring into the dark depths of Lalo’s questioning gaze.</p><p>Words continue to fail him. Wetting his bottom lip, Nacho manages to give Lalo a shaking nod, his body thrumming with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation.</p><p>Lalo tilts his head to the side, smoothing the edges of his mustache as he considers Nacho’s response. His calloused fingers skim down the length of his face, coming to a stop near the edges of his jaw.</p><p>Nacho finds himself reeling as Lalo immediately tips one hand underneath his chin. The warmth of his grip make Nacho shudder, burning beneath the surface as Lalo presses his thumb against the swell of his bottom lip.</p><p>A single dip of the head is all that Lalo offers him. Nacho wraps one hand around the collar of his shirt, forcing the taller man to stoop to his level as he slams his lips against Lalo’s own.</p><p>It’s far more messy than the one they had shared earlier in the day. Nacho finds himself fighting to stay connected, nipping at Lalo’s skin as if it’s the only thing that could ever satiate him. The iron tang of blood is apparent against his tongue, Nacho uncaring as to who it belongs to as he desperately meshes their mouth together.</p><p>Lalo presses a hand against his chest, severing them apart. Nacho gasps at the loss of contact, eyeing the other man with a look of confusion.</p><p>“<em>Relájate</em>,” Lalo whispers, cupping his face once more. “We’ve got plenty of time.”</p><p>The look of amusement that stretches across his face only makes Nacho want to shut him up with his teeth. Lalo appears far too composed; like he’s taking his time enjoying the desperate display that Nacho is putting on, and getting off on it.</p><p>Nacho presses back up against Lalo, dragging his lips against the corner of the man’s mouth. Two steady hands settle over his hips, Lalo smiling against him as he pulls Nacho closer, teasing him with a thumb skirting at waistband of his jeans.</p><p>The aching heat the burns within him is too much to bear. Nacho feels as if he’s going to be consumed, scrabbling against the purple threading of Lalo’s shirt like he’s trying to tunnel his way through the man’s chest.</p><p>Lalo spins them around before Nacho can even react. The bed seems so far away, yet Lalo pushes them towards it like it’s second nature to him. Nacho feels his heart stuttering, aching between his legs as Lalo thrusts him back, settling Nacho on the edge of the mattress.</p><p>There’s a certain finesse in the way that Lalo calmly undoes the buttons of his shirt. Nacho stares, eyes level to the man’s chest, flitting his gaze down towards the obvious tent below his brass belt buckle.</p><p>Nacho stalls, mouth dry at the sight. He quickly becomes aware of just how unprepared he is for all of this—eyeing the way Lalo’s body shifts beneath the denim, a show of barely-contained restraint.</p><p>The spanse of Lalo’s torso is surprisingly barren. Nacho finds himself digging his fingers into the luxurious sheets beneath him, captivated by the sight of each muscle that ripples along his abdomen. Lalo isn’t as well-built as Nacho is, but has a certain firmness beneath the skin that signals his strength.</p><p>Nacho flushes beneath the intensity of Lalo’s stare. The golden chain wrapped around his neck sways as the man kicks off his boots, holding Nacho captive against the magnitude of his gaze.</p><p>Feeling abashed by his lack of contribution, Nacho barely has time to throw off his own shoes before Lalo descends upon him. His hands feel like branded iron, pawing at Nacho’s still-clothed chest as he manages to arrange them along the length of the mattress.</p><p>Lalo rips the tucked-in edges of Nacho’s shirt from the waistband of his jeans. His eyes travel over the sliver of skin visible beneath the surface, dragging a hand upwards as he catches the cotton material along his wrist.</p><p>Nacho writhes beneath the touch, fighting to keep himself from arching into Lalo’s grip. The man’s fingers skate across his skin, just edging along the line of hairs that crawl up towards his navel.</p><p>Lalo’s hand pauses at the swell of Nacho’s abdomen. Furrowing his brows, he moves his hand towards a divet of skin above Nacho’s hipbone, hovering over the burst of scarred tissue.</p><p>The fascinated stare on Lalo’s face has him immediately running his fingers across the marred flesh. Nacho finds himself aching at the touch, panting breathlessly as Lalo leans forward, dragging his lips across the mark.</p><p>It’s a kind of action that has Nacho throwing his head back, unable to take in the sight. His cock is straining against the inseam of his pants, hard enough that he knows Lalo can see him struggling to stay put. The press of Lalo’s mouth against the scar only makes Nacho grow dizzy with arousal, clamping his knees around Lalo’s torso.</p><p>The man pulls back with a heated stare, his forehead marred by taut, time-worn lines. If Nacho didn’t know any better, he would have thought that Lalo was out for blood, shivering under the potency of his shadowed gaze.</p><p>Lalo wastes no time in settling himself between Nacho’s legs. A sudden wave of nerves washes over Nacho as the man wraps one hardened palm beneath his knee, kneeling against the underside of his thigh.</p><p>Nacho can feel how hard Lalo is against him, the line of the man’s erection digging against the back of his leg. His body grows warmer as Lalo slowly presses forward, settling his arms on either side of Nacho’s head.</p><p>An experimental thrust of his hips has Lalo letting out a ragged breath, his attention focused on the way Nacho keens at the action. His lips stretch into a familiar smirk, a kind of gleeful grin that seems more predatory than amused.</p><p>Nacho is dragging Lalo down to meet him, intent on wiping the leering look from his face. Their lips crash together, frenzied and fraught with unspoken tension, tongue and teeth and a sharp sense of want that burns like fire inside Nacho’s stomach.</p><p>Lalo slips his fingers around Nacho’s jaw, forcing the man to meet his gaze. In the dimness of the room, his pupils don’t even seem to refract any light, making Nacho swallow tentatively against the pressure at his throat.</p><p>“You know what I thought about today?” Lalo questions, each word a flurry of air against the other man’s face.</p><p>Nacho is unable find the ability to speak, raising one shaking hand to grasp tightly at Lalo’s wrist.</p><p>“I thought about you, Ignacio. Right here, in my bed, just like this.”</p><p>A broken moan leaks from Nacho’s mouth as Lalo tightens his grip. He’s falling off a precipice, completely absorbed in the scrape of calloused fingers against his cheek.</p><p>Lalo’s teeth are suddenly digging into Nacho’s neck, mouthing at the pulse point beside his throat. Nacho hooks a leg around Lalo’s side, no longer hesitant to grind himself against the scorching heat of Lalo’s bared abdomen. It’s simultaneously too much and not enough; a temporary relief that has him yearning, aching for more.</p><p>Nacho gasps as Lalo abruptly slides his fingers beneath the cotton material of his shirt. The man no longer attempts to put on a display of civility, tearing the two halves apart and rucking Nacho’s tank top upward. It takes Nacho only seconds to free himself from the torn garment, a modest hand-me-down from Lalo that is swiftly discarded to the floor.</p><p>Lalo’s hands smooth over the planes of his chest. Nacho bites down on his lip to keep from making any noise as Lalo’s fingertips burn trails across his stomach, pressing hard against the scar at his side.</p><p>Nacho wants him to be rough. He wants the man to press him against the mattress, biting at his skin, distracting Nacho from how fucked this whole scenario is.</p><p>All he can manage is a whine of air that catches in his throat. Lalo huffs against his neck as he hears it, pulling back to stare at him intently, unblinking.</p><p>Nacho doesn’t want to beg. He feels as if he’ll lose the last remaining strands of his dignity if he does so, already hating himself for how much he wants this—how much he wants Lalo to make him forget everything, just this once.</p><p>Lalo quickly stretches himself out, keeping one hand settled beside Nacho’s temple. The nightstand beside the bed rattles as Lalo tears open the top drawer, rooting around its contents with an impatient hand.</p><p>Nacho has to close his eyes. He feels as if he’s going to burst at the seams, keeping one leg settled along the length of Lalo’s back.</p><p>When Nacho hears the drawer close, he immediately opens his eyes to drink in the sight. A plain white tube is hidden within Lalo’s grip, a silvery thin packet wedged between his fingertips.</p><p>The thoughtfulness of the gesture leaves Nacho reeling. Another swell of arousal hits him as he immediately digs his fingers into Lalo’s bicep, catching the man’s attention.</p><p>Nacho feels like a virgin on prom night, lying here with the same kind of hormone-fueled shame that has him too nervous to look at Lalo’s face. His throat feels dry as he stares at the condom is Lalo’s hand, fixating on it with a narrowed gaze.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Nacho whispers, his voice more hoarse than it is confident.</p><p>The expression on Lalo’s face twists. His mustache flattens above his upper lip, mirroring the way his mouth settles into a thin, hard line.</p><p>Nacho feels as if he’s made some kind of mistake. Lalo’s eyes burn against his own, the breath seemingly ripped from his lungs as he tosses the rubber behind him.</p><p>Everything moves at a sudden breakneck speed. Lalo’s hands are on the front of his jeans, finally putting pressure against the strain of his erection. Nacho feels like he might tip over the edge before he’s freed from the confines, sucking in a breath as Lalo manages to undo the button and fly in one fluid motion.</p><p>A strangled gasp escapes from Nacho, his eyes pinned to the way that Lalo’s hand disappears beneath his waistband. The firmness of Lalo’s grip around his cock has Nacho panting, screwing up his face as he tries to stop himself from bucking into the warm, dry heat.</p><p>There is nothing gentle about the way Lalo shucks his clothes off, one pant leg remaining caught around Nacho’s ankle. Shivering at the cold shock of air that meets his skin, Nacho continues to keep his eyes clenched tightly shut, not wanting to face Lalo just yet.</p><p>The man’s fingers wrap loosely around the base of his erection. Nacho lets out a whine as Lalo drags his palm upward, tantalizingly slow, a tease of pressure that has Nacho crumbling under his touch.</p><p>Lalo stares openly at Nacho’s face, watching him as he squirms beneath his grip. It’s maddening—the way he keeps one hand wound around his cock, focused entirely on the way Nacho trembles as he thumbs at the head.</p><p>“Please,” Nacho manages to choke out, still clutching at Lalo’s arm.</p><p>Lalo’s grip tightens incrementally. He gives a few lazy pumps, eyeing the way Nacho swears beneath his breath, hips stuttering to meet his fist.</p><p>When Lalo releases his grip, Nacho lets out a hiss of indignation. The look that Lalo sends him has Nacho shutting up almost immediately, watching the way he reaches for the tube of forgotten lubricant, nearly lost among the swath of sheets.</p><p>Nacho swallows. He really <em>is</em> a virgin on prom night, exasperated at his lack of mental preparation. Taking an unsteady breath, he watches Lalo as the man unscrews the cap with one hand, squeezing a generous amount across his broad fingertips.</p><p>Fear of the unknown has Nacho pulling in on himself, hesitant to watch. He can feel the way Lalo’s stare drags against his face, no doubt sensing Nacho’s burgeoning apprehension.</p><p>One hand comes up to grasp at his shoulder. Nacho squeezes at the man’s wrist with both of his hands, allowing Lalo to push his legs apart, staring straight up at the stucco ceiling while he waits.</p><p>The press of wet heat against him has Nacho bearing down on Lalo’s arm. He bites down hard at his lower lip, digging his fingernails into Lalo’s flesh as the man gently prods the pad of his thumb against his entrance.</p><p>Nacho knows that Lalo is showing considerable restraint. A slight tease of movement makes Nacho clench his eyes shut, suddenly desperate for Lalo to do something—to do anything.</p><p>The first slide of a digit inside him makes Nacho hiss through his teeth. It’s not as painful as it is unpleasant, an unfamiliar type of intrusion that has him writhing beneath Lalo’s grip.</p><p>With a flutter of his eyelids, Nacho dares himself to look at Lalo’s face. The man’s hair falls down against his forehead, streaks of gray pressing into the furrows of his face. His stare is like molten iron, focused entirely on Nacho’s reaction as he pumps the digit in and out.</p><p>Nacho’s eyes roll back as he lets out a choked gasp. The burning stretch seems to dissipate as Lalo urges himself forward, keeping the pace of his hand steady.</p><p>Two more fingers join the first before Nacho finds himself bearing down on the sensation of being filled. The slick slide of the digits inside him make Nacho keen, his cock twitching against his stomach in preparation for what’s to come.</p><p>Lalo’s gaze doesn’t leave Nacho’s face for a moment, transfixed on every minute change of the man’s expression. His stare bores against Nacho’s flesh, mouth parted as he tips his chin against Nacho’s knee.</p><p>The withdrawal of his fingers makes Nacho let out a strangled gasp. It’s a sudden emptiness, the kind of barren feeling that makes him clench down on air in retaliation.</p><p>Lalo’s fingers attack the buckle of his belt, whipping the leather strap out of place. Nacho itches to wrap his arms around the man’s shoulders; watching as Lalo strips himself of his last remaining layers, his cock jutting out from beneath a dark patch of curled hair.</p><p>Nacho wants to curse the other man. The sheer length of him is enough to make him blush, avoiding looking Lalo in the eyes as the man settles back against him, slicking himself from base to tip.</p><p>The throbbing heat of Lalo’s cock brushing against the underside of his thigh makes Nacho squirm. It’s a heavy presence, punctuated by the way Lalo crawls on top of him, spreading Nacho’s thighs apart.</p><p>“<em>Estás listo?</em>” Lalo murmurs from above, dragging his clean hand underneath the swell of Nacho’s knee. His voice is rough, just barely above a whisper, signaling what could be construed as a touch of concern for the other man’s wellbeing.</p><p>Nacho despises it.</p><p>The only sort of response Nacho wishes to convey is by raising one leg up to settle against Lalo’s torso. He snakes one hand towards his neglected cock, making himself available for Lalo as he relaxes the lower half of his body.</p><p>Lalo doesn’t need to be told twice. Gripping Nacho’s thigh more tightly, he pushes his leg further back, lining himself at the man’s entrance, engrossed in the way Nacho groans at the action.</p><p>Nacho finds himself staring intently at Lalo’s face, panting as the man presses the tip of his cock against him. It’s already far more intimidating than the three fingers. Sucking in a breath, Nacho reaches forward to grip at Lalo’s shoulder, waiting for the inevitable breach.</p><p>Lalo doesn’t make a sound as he buries the head of his cock inside Nacho.</p><p>Immediately, Nacho finds himself fighting to keep himself calm. He lets out a ragged gasp, taking the brunt of the burning stretch with a shaking resolve. Nacho can feel the sweat collecting at his temple, can feel the ache in his legs as he wraps them around Lalo’s hips.</p><p>Lalo is a picture of unfettered calm. The dark gaze he settles against Nacho’s face is completely void of all emotion, a blank mask of supposed concentration as he presses forward, burying himself deeper into the pliant heat.</p><p>Nacho bites down on his lip hard enough to taste blood. It’s all too much—the stretch of Lalo’s cock is almost unbearable, drawing a string of pained gasps from Nacho’s lips.</p><p>It takes an agonizing amount of time before Lalo bottoms out. His throat works around a silent swallow, eyes focused on Nacho as the man adjusts to his length, looking pained.</p><p>Nacho wraps his hands around the back of Lalo’s neck, pulling him down until their lips are centimeters apart. The sudden surge of desire that hits him is strong enough to have Nacho bearing down on the length, watching as Lalo lets out a surprised huff of air in response.</p><p>Another roll of his hips has Lalo’s gaze turning dark. Digging one hand into Nacho’s hip, he withdraws from the tight heat that encases him, immediately surging forward with an experimental thrust.</p><p>Nacho nearly howls at the action. His fingernails scrape against Lalo’s back, teeth bared as he clenches down on the intrusion. It feels like Lalo is about to split him open, taking his time as he bottoms out once more.</p><p>Calloused fingers abruptly dig into Nacho’s chin, distracting him from the feeling of being filled. Lalo is quick to press forward, his forehead connecting with Nacho’s own as he continues to hold the man’s stare.</p><p>The stark pull of Lalo’s gaze feels like fire against his skin. Lalo watches silently as Nacho whines at the steady rhythm, driving deeper into the wet heat. Nacho knows he should feel ashamed by how badly he trembles beneath Lalo’s grip, how he finds himself meeting the man’s thrusts with a desperate cant of his hips.</p><p>A distant thought edges forth in his mind. He wonders how Fring would react if he saw Nacho in this very moment, being fucked by Lalo like they’re newlyweds trying to consummate a marriage.</p><p>The remainder of his scattered thoughts are cut short as Lalo snaps forward, driving himself deep enough to make Nacho swear under his breath. Lalo doesn’t even react as Nacho slams his hips down to meet him, fisting his cock at a now-brutal pace, feeling the slick slide of precome against his fingertips.</p><p>Another plunge of Lalo’s cock has Nacho strangling out a moan. He flushes at the sounds that escape him, throbbing under Lalo’s chest as the man picks up the pace, fucking into him with a newfound fervor that has Nacho tensing around him.</p><p>The slap of skin against skin echoes throughout the room, making Nacho clench his eyes shut, tuning the sound out. Lalo’s grip around his chin immediately tightens, putting pressure at his throat as he slams back into the malleable heat.</p><p>Nacho finds himself dragging his eyelids open, his expression screwed into one of desperate yearning. Lalo’s cock drags against the innermost part of him, sending flashes of white hot arousal across his skin. It’s piping hot, stretching within him, tendrils of pleasure that have Nacho panting against Lalo’s mouth.</p><p>There’s nothing that Nacho wants more than this. His cock twitches against his grip, warning him that he’s close.</p><p>The hand at his chin forces Nacho to meet Lalo’s eyes once more. Nacho can see his collected façade falling, searching against the strained twitch of muscle around Lalo’s forehead. The man refuses to blink as he pounds himself into the tight heat, a pained gasp escaping from his lips as Nacho clenches around him.</p><p>Nacho knows he isn’t going to last long. The intensity of Lalo’s gaze makes him burn beneath the skin, twitching in tandem with every thrust of the man’s cock that splits him further open.</p><p>His legs tighten around Lalo’s torso. Nacho can feel the rising wave about to meet him, his stomach twisting with nerves as Lalo’s hips stutter against him, no longer controlled.</p><p>“Shit,” Nacho hisses, clenching around the penetrating heat. “<em>Lalo—</em>”</p><p>At that, Lalo’s pace turns into a sloppy thrust of desperation, driving into Nacho like it’s the only thing that matters. His eyebrows pinch together, appearing almost angry as he grits his teeth, making Nacho sob beneath the brutal pace.</p><p>Nacho meets Lalo’s eye, shuddering under the immensity of his stare.</p><p>It only takes three pumps of his wrist before Nacho comes against his stomach, slick lines of white that he coaxes out with a choked gasp. The overload of his senses is overwhelming, forcing Nacho to ride out the rush of pleasure as he fucks himself onto the man’s length.</p><p>Lalo’s fingers dig into Nacho’s hip like he’s hellbent on breaking through the bone. His hurried thrusts meet Nacho’s own, a wet slide of desperation that has him clutching around the other man with a low growl.</p><p>Nacho clenches on the final push, his entire body going taut at the action. Lalo barely has any time to withdraw from the tight heat before he’s spilling against Nacho’s skin, his lips pulled into a thin line as he empties himself against Nacho’s abdomen.</p><p>Lalo’s release feels like molten lead against his skin. Nacho groans at the heat of it, squeezing around the base of his flagging erection. The haphazard thrumming of his heart has Nacho feeling lightheaded, trying to ignore the sudden loss of pressure from within him.</p><p>Heaving a sigh, Nacho blinks as he stares up at the ceiling. He can feel Lalo shift slightly, the intensity of his gaze not unfound against Nacho’s skin.</p><p>The moment has passed. Nacho is unable to face Lalo directly, feeling like he’s encased himself behind a wall of glass. Lalo’s come is drying against his hip, and Nacho knows that he cannot face him—cannot look at him just yet.</p><p>Lalo drags one hand against Nacho’s thigh, making him jump. Abashed at the action, Nacho allows Lalo to maneuver him towards the edge of the mattress, feeling the weight of him as he settles in at Nacho’s side.</p><p>One arm stretches over the pillows behind Nacho’s head. His stomach twists in response, a mixture of perturbation and the lingerings of arousal that still cloud his mind.</p><p>Nacho doesn’t dare try to wipe himself off on the sheets. A sliver of the satin material covers his leg, the rest of him laid bare beneath the muted glow of the bedside lamp. Lalo’s arm flexes behind him, his fingertips only a hair’s breadth away from Nacho’s shoulder.</p><p>The sound of a lighter being flicked draws Nacho’s attention. Craning his head to the side, he watches as Lalo lights a cigarette, one leg hanging off the edge of the bed. Nacho pointedly doesn’t stare below the man’s pelvis, focused on the way his lips curl around the end of the filter.</p><p>Lalo takes a lengthy drag, his eyes staring ahead at nothing. The fine hairs of his mustache brush against the top of the cigarette, obscuring the strip of brown between his lips.</p><p>Nacho finds himself entranced by the sight.</p><p>Lalo lets the smoke sit within him for a moment. Exhaling with a drawn-out sigh, he extends his hand outward, offering Nacho the smoke without a glance in his direction.</p><p>Eyeing the cigarette, Nacho takes it between two shaking fingertips.</p><p>His body seems to flood with newfound adrenaline, pumping through Nacho’s veins as he lies here across Lalo’s bed. Nacho isn’t sure what else to do besides take a pull, hoping the acrid taste against his tongue will calm his sudden nerves.</p><p>The room is deathly quiet. Only the burning crackle of tobacco catches Nacho’s ear, sending a tremor down his spine.</p><p>Nacho catches sight of his jeans near the foot of the bed. His body itches at the sight, unsure of whether or not it’s safe to make any sudden movements. Lalo lets out another huff of air, smoke dancing on the edges of his lips.</p><p>Swallowing around a lump of anxiety, Nacho rises from the side of the bed. He can hear the rattle of springs as he clambers off the edge, immediately wrapping his hand around the waistband of his pants.</p><p>Nacho dresses with a fervent kind of urgency. The button of his jeans is fastened in record time, cutting across a soiled line that stretches across his abdomen. Ignoring the slide of his clothes against the mess, Nacho finally turns to face Lalo, steeling himself for the man’s reaction.</p><p>Lalo’s gaze is one of modest curiosity. Plucking the cigarette from between his lips, he watches Nacho as the man shuffles in place, waiting for a response.</p><p>Snuffing the cigarette on a nearby ashtray, Lalo settles his hands behind his head. “You got somewhere to be?”</p><p>Nacho startles at the question. The words aren’t accusatory in tone, more or less an innocuous adage to Lalo’s own observations.</p><p>Shaking his head is the best response that Nacho can manage. Lalo splits into a grin at the sight, throwing his other foot off the side of the bed.</p><p>Nacho flushes at the lack of shame that Lalo exhibits, his eyes avoiding the stark bareness of the other man’s body. It’s almost teasing in the way that Lalo saunters up to him, brazenly putting himself on display as he meets Nacho’s gaze with a subdued grin.</p><p>Lalo has his hands around Nacho’s face before the other man can even blink. He lets Lalo pull him closer, their eyes drawn together as Nacho feels the man’s breath against him, warm and steady.</p><p>A moment of consideration is all that Lalo offers him. Patting Nacho on the cheek, Lalo withdraws from the other man and makes his way towards the bathroom, not sparing Nacho a second glance.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The familiar spray of a shower-head being turned on snaps Nacho from his stupor as he stands in the middle of Lalo’s room, perplexed.</p><p>He has no reason to be here. The door to the bathroom is cracked open, and Nacho has absolutely no reason to be standing here, come drying on his stomach, dressed in only a pair of wrinkled jeans.</p><p>A distant echo of noise reverberates past the open door. Lalo is singing to himself in the shower, swapping between a caterwaul and a whistle every few seconds.</p><p>Nacho closes his eyes. If he’s in for a penny, then he might as well be in for the entire fucking pound. Letting out a ragged breath, he trudges over to the bathroom door, leaning against the jamb as he contemplates his sanity.</p><p>Lalo doesn’t even seem surprised to see Nacho, his expression decidedly amused as he watches Nacho pause at the doorway. The room is not yet clouded by moisture, the glass of the shower walls only fogged slightly by a thin layer of condensation.</p><p>Nacho strips off his soiled jeans with as much dignity as he can muster, pointedly not paying attention to the leering stare that Lalo’s drags against his skin. He keeps his eyes focused on the tiled floor, clenching his fists at his sides as Lalo slides the shower door open, soaking from head to foot.</p><p>There’s a brief moment where Nacho reconsiders his decision. He can feel the intensity of Lalo’s stare, pinning him to the spot as a slew of droplets splatter against the floor, directly in front of his feet.</p><p>Nacho pushes himself under the shower’s spray, letting the blistering rush of water surround him.</p><p>Lalo is already humming again, one arm wrapped around Nacho’s back as he slides the glass door back into place. He looks uniquely different under the brightness of the bathroom lights, his hair slicked back against his skull, the gray streaks less apparent while wet.</p><p>A muscle twitches at Nacho’s jaw as he immediately recognizes the warbling tune that Lalo croons. Heaving a sigh, he lets his head fall forward, relishing the funnel of water that travels down his spine.</p><p>Lalo pauses his singing as he shifts against Nacho’s side. Cracking open an eyelid, Nacho watches the man as he plucks a tube from the shower wall, snapping open the lid with an appreciative whistle.</p><p>A foamy lather rises from Lalo’s scalp as he swishes his fingers around. The sight of the man’s hair sticking upward is frightfully comedic to Nacho as he drinks in the sight, feeling one corner of his mouth rise against his own volition.</p><p>Lalo meets his gaze, a line of soap rushing down his temple. “I bet you save a lot of money on shampoo, huh?”</p><p>Nacho closes his eyes at the statement, knowing that only a man such as Lalo could say something so stupidly poignant. Huffing through his nose, Nacho allows himself to give a slight nod in response.</p><p>Lalo’s fingers are eager to dig a thin layer of soap against Nacho’s back, blunt nails scratching into his tender skin. Nacho tries to ignore how good it feels, suddenly hyper-aware of how his beard is growing out, the prickle of newly-sprouted strands pressing against his palm as he soothes one hand over his chin.</p><p>It’s the intimacy of the situation that makes Nacho’s stomach twist. The exhaustion that creeps into his bones is only kept on edge by the way Lalo’s lavishes his scars with attention, dragging his fingertips across the raised marks of flesh.</p><p>Standing under the near-blinding halo of light permits Nacho to see a scar marring Lalo’s own skin. A jagged line cuts across the man’s stomach, only a scant few centimeters below the jut of his ribcage.</p><p>Nacho presses a thumb against the mark experimentally, drawing Lalo’s attention. The scar is not as severe as the ones that Nacho bears, but is still profound enough to signal some kind of violent altercation.</p><p>“It’s an old stab wound,” Lalo murmurs, keeping his hand cupped around Nacho’s shoulder. “Got it when I was thirteen. My first ever real fight.”</p><p>The raised line of flesh cuts against Nacho’s thumb like a sewn thread.</p><p>“How’d it happen?”</p><p>Lalo blinks at Nacho’s question. His expression seems softer under the torrent of water that surrounds them, blurry around the edges.</p><p>“Some kids were messing around with things that didn’t concern them. One of them had a pocketknife and didn’t know how to use it. I showed him how.”</p><p>The darkness that underlines Lalo’s words is not unfound. Nacho drops his hand, meeting the man’s gaze with a swallow.</p><p>When the water grows cold, neither of them are willing to make the first move.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Everything seems to shift after that night.</p><p>Nacho sleeps for nearly twelve hours straight. It’s a deep sort of sleep that could rival a comatose person; the kind that no amount of noise or outside interference could possibly break.</p><p>Lalo is not at the house when Nacho awakes. Somehow, Nacho finds himself to be more anxious than relieved at the revelation. He decides to make himself useful, sneaking into the laundry room while Yolanda hangs clothes to dry on a rack.</p><p>The woman sends a knowing look his way, her eyebrows furrowed as she carries a basket of linens. Nacho pointedly tries to ignore the depths of her gaze, taking the basket from her hands and placing it into his own. He makes quick work of hanging the delicate fabrics, asking Yolanda if there’s anything else he can do to help.</p><p>Yolanda’s eyes narrow as she faces Nacho head-on. Despite her suspicious stare, she allows Nacho to assist her with a few menial tasks, occasionally glancing at him when she thinks he isn’t looking.</p><p>When Lalo returns, Nacho doesn’t even hear him come in. He finds himself somewhat engrossed in the boring rabble of chores that keep his mind occupied, trying not to let his mind drift back to the night before.</p><p>An inkling of shame crawls across Nacho’s skin. His cheeks burn at the resurgence of certain memories, more visceral than they would be if he were looking at photographs of them in hand.</p><p>It’s only after Nacho leaves the kitchen that he hears a strain of music coming from the top floor. His stomach churns at the faint noise, a kind of lilting tune that he knows Lalo loves to blast on the radio.</p><p>Nacho finds himself ascending the wooden steps with a precognitive ease. The doors to Lalo’s room are swung wide open, giving him a peek into the room from the top of the staircase.</p><p>The song that echoes throughout the empty space is more contemporary than Nacho typically hears Lalo indulge in. It’s mesmerizing to the ear, a mesh of brassy strains and dreamy falsettos that have Nacho tipping his head to the side, closing his eyes.</p><p>When Nacho enters the room, he’s momentarily taken aback by the sight of Lalo on his hands and knees, messing with a tangle of wires beneath a wooden shelf.</p><p>Nacho pauses. A TV is placed on the wooden mount, having seemingly appeared out of thin air since the previous night.</p><p>“Hey, Ignacio,” Lalo calls out, not bothering to turn around. “What do you think?”</p><p>The sight of the sleek rectangular box puts Nacho on edge. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he waits for Lalo to get back to his feet, staring at a smudge of dirt on his cheek.</p><p>“You like watching TV, <em>verdad?</em>”</p><p>Nacho bites his tongue, half-tempted to ask Lalo if he’s ever met someone who doesn’t like watching TV. Deciding to be more mature, he gives a modest nod in response.</p><p>Lalo smiles, clapping Nacho on the shoulder. Whistling along to the melody that plays, he slinks into the bathroom, his voice rising above the rush of the faucet.</p><p>Nacho sits himself on the edge of the bed. It feels far too familiar beneath him, making the man break out in a full-bodied flush. Shaking his head, Nacho’s eyes drift from the behemoth of a television to the nearby nightstand, also bearing a new decoration in its place.</p><p>There’s a fraction of a moment where Nacho contemplates whether or not he should investigate.</p><p>Reaching forward, his fingers wrap around the back of what appears to be a picture frame. Turning the piece over in his grip, he stares through the clouded glass panel, eyes narrowed as he rakes his gaze across it.</p><p>A woman sits with a child on her lap. The brightness of her grin is palpable, even behind a thick layer of grime at the surface of the glass. Nacho finds himself perplexed by the woman’s appearance, her blonde hair blowing messily in the breeze, carefree.</p><p>His heart stutters in his chest. The child in her lap echoes her enthusiasm, his hair far darker than the woman’s own, a mop of ragged charcoal waves.</p><p>Nacho quickly sets the picture frame down. His fingertips feel as if they’ve been branded, hot to the touch as he rises to his feet, desperate to leave the room.</p><p>Lalo’s stare has Nacho stopping in his tracks. The intensity of the man’s gaze forces him to freeze, caught by the follies of his own curiosity, one proverbial hand in the cookie jar.</p><p>Lalo settles his hands on his hips. “She’s pretty, huh?”</p><p>Nacho quirks his head at the question. Blinking away his confusion, he turns to look at the picture once more, focusing on the familiarity of the woman’s smile.</p><p>It only takes a few generous steps before Lalo is at his side. Nacho remains stoic, staring at his boots as Lalo picks up the picture frame, studying it for a few moments.</p><p>Turning his gaze towards Lalo, Nacho meets his eye with a sliver of apprehension. The man’s expression is hardened, focusing on Nacho as if he’s daring the man to say something.</p><p>For some odd reason, all Nacho feels is a warped sense of pity. Swallowing around his nerves, he lets his eyes focus on the picture held loosely in Lalo’s hand, carefully considering his words.</p><p>“My mother died when I was fifteen,” is what Nacho manages to eke out. “She had a lot of health problems we couldn’t afford to treat.”</p><p>Nacho isn’t sure why he’s telling Lalo this. Intrinsically, he knows that the other man would be hard-pressed to care, about as aloof as he was after he had murdered the TravelWire agent.</p><p>Instead, Nacho is surprised to see Lalo’s expression shift. It’s one of reserved curiosity, masked by an air of apathy. Swiping his gaze back to the picture frame, Lalo lets a smile stretch across his lips.</p><p>“<em>Mi madre</em>—she didn’t know what she was getting herself into,” Lalo murmurs in reply, shaking his head. “I understand why Hector wanted to get rid of her. Bad look for the Salamanca family, you know?”</p><p>Nacho’s blood runs cold at Lalo’s indifferent tone. Keeping his gaze level, he watches as Lalo sets the metal frame back onto the nightstand, still grinning in amusement.</p><p>“I was only two, maybe three. They put ten bullets in her. Six of them in the head.”</p><p>Lalo’s fingers extend into a mock-gun shape. Settling it against his temple, he laughs as he pretends to fire it, his dark eyes gleaming in response.</p><p>Nacho feels a wave of nausea hit him. The tendons at his throat work around an uneasy swallow, making him twitch beneath his skin.</p><p>Horror seizes Nacho as a mass of unshed tears gather near the corner of his eyes.</p><p>Lalo seems to be immediately entranced by Nacho’s reaction. Pushing closer, he quickly wraps his fingers around the man’s jaw, forcing Nacho to meet his questioning gaze. The perplexity in his expression only makes Nacho feel worse, raw to the touch as he clenches his teeth together.</p><p>There’s no reason for Nacho to feel any sympathy for the other man. He knows he doesn’t deserve it. Blinking away the wetness around his eyelashes, he grips Lalo by the shoulders, willing the man to make the first move.</p><p>Lalo stares at him, the lines of his face appearing deeper than before. His expression remains inscrutable as he snakes a hand around Nacho’s back, bringing the other man against his chest as he continues to cup his jaw.</p><p>Nacho thinks that the crush of Lalo’s lips might be the only thing that can wipe his mind completely clear.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They continue like this for the remainder of the week.</p><p>Nacho no longer tries to dwell on why he’s doing this. His mind blanks whenever he follows Lalo up to his bedroom, aching to be under the man’s touch, to be filled and undressed and torn asunder.</p><p>All Nacho knows for certain is that he wants this, and that he enjoys doing it more than he should.</p><p>Closing his eyes, Nacho allows himself to take a deep breath. His body is glistening with sweat, thighs shaking with exertion as he stretches out against the sheets.</p><p>Lalo pulls at a cigarette beside him, equally as spent as Nacho is. One of his legs is still propped up—having supported Nacho’s weight as the man had ridden him not five minutes earlier.</p><p>Nacho glances upward. The headboard is still intact, yet his hands still throb at the memory of wood beneath his palms. He thinks about how Lalo had watched him, gripping his ass as he drove Nacho downward, rattling the mattress with every frenzied thrust.</p><p>A pleasant buzz of arousal washes over him. Letting out a sigh through his nose, Nacho turns to watch Lalo as the man flips through a random assortment of TV channels. The cigarette in his mouth continues to smolder, ash collecting at the tip as Lalo distractedly thumbs at the buttons of the remote.</p><p>Nacho closes his eyes at the slightest brush of fingertips against his skin. Lalo’s left arm is loosely wrapped around him, his knuckles dragging absentmindedly down Nacho’s spine as he continues to stare at the TV. It’s a shockingly tender display that Lalo does not typically indulge in.</p><p>His skin burns along the trails of Lalo’s fingers. It’s the only connection of skin between them, a line being drawn in what terms they’ve conceded themselves to.</p><p>Lalo finally stops on an old black-and-white movie channel. Nacho’s interest is only grabbed by the fact that he recognizes the film, an old Pedro Infante classic that his father would regularly keep on in the background of the shop.</p><p>Having abandoned the remote, Lalo snuffs his waning cigarette with a pinch of his fingers. He seems to enjoys the burn against his skin, only using the ashtray beside him as a dispensary for the rolled-up butts, still smoking in furled coils.</p><p>Nacho doesn’t focus on it for too long. He finds himself beginning to grow drowsy, glancing at the television as his eyelashes begin to flutter against his cheeks.</p><p>“They’re expecting you to be on the other side of the border by the end of the week.”</p><p>Lalo’s unforeseen comment snaps Nacho back into wakefulness. Blinking in surprise, he eyes Lalo from the corner of his vision. The man doesn’t tear his gaze away from the TV screen, his lips drawn into a distracted frown.</p><p>Nacho quietly wonders how Lalo expects him respond. Opting for neutrality, he shifts himself further up the bed.</p><p>“Domingo is keeping everything in check?”</p><p>Lalo snorts, still appearing indifferent. “Everything’s fine, man. No trouble.”</p><p>The pointedness of his tone leads Nacho to believe that his words are merely a formality. Moving his gaze towards the ceiling, Nacho traces the plethora of random dots above him, carved into the stucco.</p><p>He finds it hard to believe that nearly a month has passed since he’s arrived here. Lalo’s house suddenly seems too familiar, beginning to seep along the crevices of his mind. The comfort of Lalo’s bed is now more recognizable against Nacho’s skin than his own bed back home, typically crowded with either Amber or Jo in tow.</p><p>The thought of being back in Albuquerque is incomprehensible to his mind. Nacho thinks about how he should be feeling elated at the prospect. Ecstatic over his ability to ensure that his father is alright—to get back into contact with Fring, and do whatever it takes to sever himself from the abscess of the cartel.</p><p>Nacho finds himself openly barren in comparison. The twitch of Lalo’s fingers are restless, almost agitated in their movements as they knead against him.</p><p>Near the back of his mind, he wonders if Lalo wants him to go back.</p><p>Nacho immediately clenches down on that thought. It’s too uncomfortable to think about—something he does not want to dwell on, better left as just a passing notion in his mind. There is little doubt in Nacho’s mind that Lalo only sees him as an expendable right-hand man, one he can trust to take to bed and nothing more. Someone to amuse him for the time being.</p><p>The drag of Lalo’s palm against his back breaks Nacho from his turbulent thoughts. Pressing his cheek into the cool cover of the pillow, he watches the TV screen flicker lights across the distant wall, his heart pounding restlessly within his chest.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The weather seems to take a turn for the worse. Nacho wakes up in Lalo’s bed for the first time, hearing the clatter of rainfall falling against the balcony window.</p><p>It also happens to be the only time Nacho catches Lalo while he’s asleep. The digital clock beside the bed states that it’s only half-past-five. Nacho can see the swollen storm clouds rolling out across the horizon, a massive blanket that turns everything slate gray.</p><p>Lalo doesn’t make much noise. Nacho drags his gaze across the man’s face, watching the silent inhales and exhales that make his chest rise and fall, as steady as an ocean tide. He sleeps on his back, one hand settled over his abdomen, his other arm slung comfortably around Nacho’s shoulders.</p><p>Nacho wonders how long the man has been dozing. He thinks back to their first real conversation beside the firepit, remembering how Lalo had said he never got more than a couple hours of sleep a night. At the time, Nacho thought he had just been exaggerating, trying to impress him with some show of superhuman feat.</p><p>Squinting in the low-light, Nacho continues to observe him. Even in an unconscious state, Lalo appears formidable—not wholly menacing, but still rough around the edges. The lines at his forehead seem to be eased of their typical tension, carving across Lalo’s face like time-worn ravines.</p><p>Nacho doesn’t dare try to touch him. The sheer desire he feels to do so makes him feel ashamed, as if he’s being tricked by his own emotions. He chalks it up to the fact that he still finds it hard to accept Lalo as human; that the beat of his heart and the warmth of his skin isn’t enough to convince Nacho of that particular reality.</p><p>Lalo continues to sleep as if he takes no heed of Nacho’s tumultuous thoughts. An audible sigh escapes from his lungs, just skirting past Nacho’s cheek.</p><p>It takes Nacho a profound amount of effort to escape from the warmth of Lalo’s bed. Collecting his clothes piece by piece, he does not spare the other man a second glance as he slowly dresses himself, leaving Lalo to his own quiet slumber.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Lalo doesn’t question him about the previous day’s events.</p><p>If anything, the man seems more exuberant than normal, his smile a little too wide for his face. He greets Nacho with a beguiling grin as he carries an enormous steel disk towards the back patio, mentioning that the <em>discada</em> will be prepared by his own hands.</p><p>Nacho finds himself lacking the same enthusiasm Lalo expels. His mind is focused on Albuquerque—thinking about what he’s going to have to tell Fring.</p><p>A cold sweat collects on Nacho’s back. He knows that Fring is going to want every detail. The man had figured out Nacho’s plan against Hector as easily as if he had pried the information from Nacho’s brain himself.</p><p>Standing next to Lalo’s side, he inhales half of his bottle of beer. Lalo’s words are lost on him, falling deaf against the tinny ringing that reverberates through Nacho’s ears.</p><p>If Fring finds out about Lalo and him, Nacho knows he is a dead man.</p><p>Closing his eyes, he allows himself to focus on the now-cheery whistle that leaks from Lalo’s mouth. The sizzle of pork and beef against the steel disc accent his voice, a cacophony of sound that distracts Nacho momentarily.</p><p>“<em>Quieres otra cerveza?</em>” Lalo questions, making Nacho crack open his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d be pounding them down so quickly.”</p><p>Nacho shakes his head, quickly looking down at the label of the glass bottle. He knows it’s some fancy brand that probably costs more than any beer should. The taste of it in his mouth is nearly lost on him, too distracted to fully engross himself.</p><p>The slide of a spatula against the metal disc makes Nacho tense. It scrapes louder than it should, the sharp edges dragging along the strips of meat, tossing them about the pan.</p><p>Nacho finds himself staring at Lalo’s face, needing to be distracted from his thoughts. A slight gleam of sweat coats his skin, no doubt caused by the rise of steam above the skillet. A curl of graying hair falls against Lalo’s forehead, drawing Nacho’s attention.</p><p>Quickly downing the rest of his beer, Nacho moves incrementally closer. Lalo’s hands seem to slow at the action, his dark eyes glancing at the other man from the corner of his vision.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Nacho slides in next to him. His fingers shake slightly as he wraps one hand around Lalo’s wrist, urging him to relinquish his grip on the spatula.</p><p>Lalo allows Nacho to take the utensil in hand. He silently watches him, drinking in the sight as he shifts against Nacho’s back. The heat of his stare seems to burn more intensely than the crackling fire underneath the metal disc.</p><p>When the food is finished cooking, Nacho finds himself unable to eat. He chokes down a few bites out of modesty, the shame he feels alleviated by the fact that he at least helped Lalo cook. The other members of Lalo’s household join them, all engaging in a camaraderie that Nacho cannot bear to take part in.</p><p>It’s a hellish few hours of uninterrupted socializing. Lalo doesn’t stop staring at him, seemingly waiting for Nacho to engage in the rabble of conversation that surrounds them—waiting for him to be a part of the festivities.</p><p>The guilt that plagues Nacho doesn’t seem to disappear. When the lull of the conversation begins to die out, he is the first one to help Yolanda with the endless mound of porcelain dishes. Nacho knows he doesn’t have to do it, sensing Lalo’s eyes as they burn against his skin, watching him from the other side of the patio.</p><p>He tries not to think about anything in particular as he runs through the motions of cleaning, his mind an empty slate. After he finishes with the dishes, both of Nacho’s hands are scraped and pruned, hot to the touch from the blistering spray of water.</p><p>Nacho waits.</p><p>He’s the last one remaining in the kitchen, long after the sky has grown dark. Yolanda had been hesitant to leave the other man to his devices, giving him a sympathetic look before she disappeared into the hallway, off to bed.</p><p>It’s the sound of Lalo’s boots that signal the man’s imposing presence. Clenching his eyes shut, Nacho digs his palms into the side of the granite countertop, wishing the other man would disappear.</p><p>The first words that escape from his mouth surprise him. Turning to face Lalo directly, Nacho balls his hands into fists.</p><p>“How does all of this end?” he questions, his voice sounding small in the wide expanse of the room.</p><p>Lalo doesn’t even blink at the question. Taking a step forward, he tilts his head to the side, studying Nacho like he’s mildly intrigued by his words.</p><p>“How do you think, Ignacio?”</p><p>Nacho finds himself incensed by Lalo’s response. Gritting his teeth, he meets the depth of the other man’s gaze, furious at his nonchalance.</p><p>“This—all of this—is this it? When I go back up north tomorrow, is all of this over?”</p><p>Lalo’s expression shifts into one of perplexity. Pinching his eyebrows together, he moves closer until he’s only inches away from Nacho’s own chest, the warmth of his body palpable in their proximity.</p><p>“Don Eladio likes you. You won’t be there for much longer. You’ll be promoted, brought back south to help with operations in a couple months.”</p><p>The significance of his unspoken words hit Nacho squarely in the chest. He swallows around a lump in his throat, forcing himself to meet Lalo’s eye.</p><p>It’s too intimate. The look on Lalo’s face is too open, seeming to accept what the other man is too terrified to ask.</p><p>Nacho feels as if he’s crumbling in on himself. Fighting against his apprehension, he fixes Lalo with a question that has been unrelenting in his mind since the very beginning.</p><p>“Why me?”</p><p>At that, Lalo’s expression turns ardent. No light refracts from his pupils as he grabs ahold of Nacho’s shoulders, digging his fingers against the man’s skin, branding him.</p><p>The waft of warm air that skirts past his cheek is the only response Nacho needs. It’s a swift understanding, electrifying his senses as he grabs ahold of Lalo’s shirt, needing to steady himself.</p><p>Lalo trusts him. For some god-awful reason, the man trusts him. Guilt gnaws at Nacho’s mind as he lets himself be pulled into Lalo’s grip, feeling the brush of the man’s lips against his jaw.</p><p>Nacho doesn’t make a sound. He thinks about Tuco rotting away in a prison somewhere. He thinks about Hector, immobilized in some shitty nursing home, only able to communicate with one gnarled finger against an old bell. He thinks about how he’s willingly sabotaged the Salamanca family, causing them more pain than Gustavo Fring ever could.</p><p>Nacho thinks about what Lalo would do if he knew.</p><p>Throwing his head to the side, Nacho kisses him. The drag of Lalo’s mustache against his upper lip makes him press harder into the man’s sturdy warmth. He lets Lalo spin them around, sucking at his skin, wanting one more night to just forget about how much he doesn’t deserve this.</p><p>Lalo pauses. The air between them is sucked into his lungs, a sharp intake of breath as he pulls back, his eyes wide.</p><p>An explosion of glass behind them shatters in Nacho’s ears as Lalo twists in his grip, sending them crashing to the floor.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Nacho doesn’t breathe.</p><p>One palm settles over his chest. He feels the weight of Lalo against him, pressing into his side, tethering him to world that spins around him.</p><p>All at once, the kitchen becomes alarmingly quiet. The familiar tang of blood scents the suddenly-still air. Nacho convulses, one hand immediately falling against the spreading wetness that leaks against his abdomen.</p><p>Nacho doesn’t feel any pain. Confused, he immediately drags his hand against the pool of blood, his wide-eyed stare falling to the man at his side.</p><p>Lalo’s gaze shocks him, making Nacho jolt in terror. A line of scarlet-red spills from his upper arm, trickling down the length of his bared skin.</p><p>Keeping his gaze level, Lalo shifts. The lines at his forehead deepen as he brings a finger to his lips, holding Nacho’s terrified gaze.</p><p>Nacho feels as if his heart is about to split open in his chest. The sight of blood steadily seeping across Lalo’s sleeve makes him shake, air catching in his throat at the sight.</p><p>The pressure of Lalo’s grip against him has Nacho floundering towards reality. The other man manages to crawl backwards using one hand, allowing Nacho enough space to follow behind him.</p><p>Nacho has to shock himself into moving. His throat constricts at the line of blood that trails the kitchen floor, streaming down Lalo’s arm as he holds it against his chest.</p><p>Settling against the wall near the back of the kitchen, Nacho turns to face Lalo. The encompassing darkness of the hallway makes everything harder to see, yet Nacho can still hear the trickle of blood as it drips against the floor, deafeningly loud in the absolute silence of the house.</p><p>One hand circles around his mouth. Fighting back the urge to struggle, Nacho watches Lalo as the man peers over the corner of the wall, his expression inscrutable.</p><p>Releasing his grip, Lalo turns his attention to the nearby stovetop. A single cast iron skillet sits atop it, having been overlooked by Nacho earlier. Lalo manages to throw his uninjured arm atop the stove, wrapping his fingers around the hilt as he settles himself against the wall at Nacho’s side.</p><p>Nacho feels like he can’t breathe. The crazed look in Lalo’s eye seems to drown him, panic rising in his chest as he wonders what the hell is going on, still focused on Lalo’s leaking wound.</p><p>A frightening understanding overcomes him only seconds later.</p><p>
  <em>Fring. That son of a bitch—</em>
</p><p>The shuffling of boots against the kitchen floor has Nacho pressing himself flat against the wall. Lalo shifts at his side, holding the pan in his left hand as he forces the other man to meet his gaze.</p><p>A single flick of his head towards the dining room is all that Nacho has to go on. Lalo moves unsteadily to his feet as Nacho watches on in horror, sliding up the wall as he focuses his attention around the corner.</p><p>Nacho throws himself into the pitch black of the dining room. Crawling forward on his elbows, he spares a frantic glance over his shoulder, watching Lalo’s silhouette as he shifts his weight to one foot.</p><p>Lalo descends into the kitchen as if he’s a man on a suicide mission.</p><p>A barrage of gunfire reverberates behind him, destroying the length of ceramics that line the countertop. Nacho practically tears himself across the floor, hearing the splinter of wood from the cupboards, not stopping until he’s made his way to the living room.</p><p>Nacho immediately freezes on all-fours. A body sits beside the couch, two crumpled legs the only part of it in view.</p><p>Sweat collects at his forehead as he closes his eyes to the sight. A torrent of bullets still echo from the kitchen, forcing Nacho to keep as close to the ground as possible.</p><p>He only spares a second to make sure the coast is clear. Digging his teeth into his cheek, Nacho reaches a hand towards the man’s lifeless body, seeing the familiar bulge of a gun in the waistband of his slacks.</p><p>The firearm feels like a slab of ice against Nacho’s palm. He silently thanks a higher power from above, twisting his gaze back towards the kitchen.</p><p>An unseen force seems to stop Nacho from pressing forward. His unblinking stare focuses on the strobing light of gunfire in the distance, shaking the house with every frenzied round.</p><p>He doesn’t know if Lalo is still alive. The man had taken a bullet to the arm, and Nacho knows he doesn’t have a gun. Lalo has no way to protect himself.</p><p>He could leave Lalo to die. Fring orchestrated all of this for the entire purpose of the man’s demise. His father, his freedom—all of it hangs in the balance of whether or not Lalo Salamanca dies here tonight.</p><p>Nacho closes his eyes. Lalo had no reason to take the bullet—Nacho was in front of him, completely blind to the gunman outside. He could have used Nacho as a meat shield if he wanted to. Lalo could have let him bleed out against the floor, as disposable as a paper rag, nothing more than a mere casualty in the line of work.</p><p>His fingers tighten around the gun. Sucking in a silent breath, Nacho rises from his position, stalking down the hallway with careful, calculated steps.</p><p>A single man shrouded in black kevlar stands on the other side of the granite island. His rifle is drawn, back facing Nacho as he turns towards the window, searching for any signs of life.</p><p>Nacho aims the gun, his hands feeling more steady than they ever have before.</p><p>He fires a round directly into the man’s neck. A piercing shriek greets him, the gunman’s rifle going off as he crumples to the ground, raining hellfire against the ceiling.</p><p>Nacho keeps the gun level as he throws his head around the corner of the archway. Lalo is nowhere to be seen. Only another gunman’s body decorates the kitchen floor.</p><p>Swearing under his breath, Nacho pulls back into the darkness of the dining room. His fingers feel sticky with sweat, gripping the pistol in an attempt to steady himself. Keeping himself low, he rounds the wooden table to his right and glances back into the eerily quiet living room.</p><p>The brush of a hand against his arm has Nacho seizing in terror. The gun in his hand is immediately pressed against the stranger’s hip, forcing Nacho to spin on his heel, eyes wide.</p><p>Lalo greets him with a labored breath. The stucco beside him is lined with red, blood continuing to ooze from his arm like tar. Nacho finds himself trembling at the sight, immediately jamming the pistol into his waistband as he grabs ahold of Lalo’s shoulder.</p><p>Lalo only lets out a huff of air as Nacho slings his uninjured arm around his shoulders. Straining to see in the dark, he wraps himself around the man’s back, feeling desperately lost in a sea of shadows.</p><p>“Bathroom,” Lalo manages to grit out, his fingers digging into the meat of Nacho’s shoulder.</p><p>Nacho tries to steady his breathing as he supports the brunt of Lalo’s weight. It takes him a few seconds to get the man flush against his side, allowing the both of them to move forward on shaking legs.</p><p>The route to the bathroom seems wholly unfamiliar in the moment. Nacho labors as Lalo staggers alongside him, trying to stay as silent as possible as they push past the familiar white door.</p><p>Nacho has the common sense to set the lock into place. Lalo eases himself from the other man’s grip, stumbling over to the nearby sink as if he’s about to collapse.</p><p>“Lalo—your arm,” Nacho begins, feeling his heart leap in his chest. The man’s sleeve is nearly painted red, completely staining the length of his arm.</p><p>Lalo lets out a pained breath, ignoring Nacho’s words. Raising one hand towards the wall, he takes the brass handle of the towel ring in hand, pulling on it with all of his strength.</p><p>The metal bar extends from the wall with a click. Trying to twist the metal ring makes Lalo hiss, unable to fully rotate it with his uninjured hand.</p><p>Nacho finds himself turning the brass circlet before he even knows what it’s for. The man beside him covers him with a palm as he pushes downward, setting the towel ring back into place.</p><p>A distant whirring beside him makes Nacho freeze. Swinging his head to the side, he watches in total shock as the bathtub rises on a panel, revealing a secret hideaway beneath it.</p><p>Lalo pushes against Nacho’s shoulder, forcing the man to move forward. The distant clamor of gunfire seems to draw nearer, making his stomach twist into knots.</p><p>Nacho cannot find the ability to think straight as he gazes down into the glowing entrance. The pistol at his hip digs uncomfortably into his skin, making Nacho flinch as he settles himself against the edge of the tunnel.</p><p>A prickle of apprehension has Nacho meeting Lalo’s gaze once more. The man’s eyes are black as night, expressionless. Reaching a hand forward, he plucks the pistol from Nacho’s waistband, pointing it towards the entrance.</p><p>“Go.”</p><p>Nacho merely blinks in response, fighting back the urge to argue. Pressing his lips together, he shoves himself through the narrow hole and connects with the soft dirt underfoot, scrabbling anxiously on his hands and knees.</p><p>He knows that Lalo isn’t going to follow him. The tunnel is long, imposing in distance as Nacho begins to crawl forward, digging his fingers into the pliant earth.</p><p>Dirt cakes beneath his nails as he tears himself down the narrow passageway. A line of glass lanterns direct him, urging him to press forward, aiming for an unknown exit. The rattle of gunfire soon grows dim as he continues to claw his way forward, waiting for a sign of escape.</p><p>It takes Nacho less than a minute to stumble upon a line of metal bars, leading up towards another square panel. He quickly ascends the mock stairs, slamming his fist against the front of the panel, feeling the weight of something else above him.</p><p>The exit gives way as Nacho thrusts a particularly vicious strike against the side. A distant gleam of light shines from above, drawing Nacho to the surface.</p><p>He’s surprised to see himself surrounded by a sea of grass. Throwing his elbows out, Nacho drags himself upward, groaning in exertion as he manages to pull himself out of the hole. Collapsing against the grass, he allows himself a moment to recollect his thoughts.</p><p>Only a slew of silence greets him. Twisting his head around, Nacho takes in the sight of the massive stone wall that surrounds Lalo’s house. Pushing himself onto his feet, Nacho stumbles towards the line of brick, searching for some means of an entrance.</p><p>Nacho stops. Near the very edge of the wall, a jut of metal draws his attention. Adrenaline courses through his body as he flies toward it, hearing a few stray rounds of gunfire echo from within the house.</p><p>A stab of terror seizes Nacho as he realizes what has happened. A gate near the very back has been pried open, leading directly into the back patio, right next to the firepit that Lalo and him sat next to on the very first night.</p><p>Nacho swallows around his fear. Dragging himself forward, he stops as he hears a distant whimper calling out into the deep chill of night.</p><p>It only takes him a second to round the metal door. The familiar sight of Lalo standing at the patio makes him sag in relief, completely unaware of the man that crawls alongside him.</p><p>Nacho’s blood feels like ice within his veins. Finally taking heed of the other man, he creeps forward on unsteady legs, watching as Lalo jams his boot against the gunman’s hand.</p><p>The clatter of a gun against the wooden deck brings Nacho back to reality. He quickly reaches forward to grab it, watching as Lalo settles himself over the man’s chest, whispering softly against his ear.</p><p>Confusion quickly morphs into understanding as Nacho draws closer, hearing Lalo’s careful instructions. He knows who the gunmen have been hired by—he wants him to believe that everyone in the household is dead.</p><p>Nacho feels sick at the very prospect, nauseated as it seeps into his mind. Lalo sounds uncharacteristically gentle as he presses the phone against the gunman’s ear, instructing him on what he needs to say.</p><p>The moment is lost in Nacho’s turbulent thoughts. He does not tear his gaze away when Lalo eventually pulls back, unloading a single bullet between the man’s eyes.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Lalo doesn’t talk.</p><p>Nacho has to support the other man when they make their way across the nearby lawn. The night air is still, unfairly quiet as they stagger down the gravel pathway, wrapped around each other.</p><p>Nacho’s heart sinks as he catches sight of a familiar gray dress. He bites back the urge to sob, his mind reeling as he feels Lalo clench beside him.</p><p>The anger Lalo feels is palpable. Nacho lets the man stumble from his grip, standing above Yolanda’s body as his face grows tight with rage.</p><p>Nacho has to close his eyes to the sight. He feels as if he could collapse at any moment, his animosity for Fring growing as he blearily studies the back of Lalo’s head.</p><p>Without a word, the other man pushes himself forward. The sickening crunch of gravel underfoot has Nacho trailing behind him, hopelessly numb to the stench of death that surrounds him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They find a lone car hidden behind the distant hillside.</p><p>Lalo doesn’t stop for a moment. Nacho fears the man has already lost too much blood to recover, expecting him to collapse against the soft feathergrass beneath their feet.</p><p>The vehicle is more of an armored tank than anything else. It nearly blends into the horizon, only signaling its presence by masking the scatter of stars that surround it.</p><p>Nacho feels himself growing panicked at the sight. He thinks about the possibility of more gunmen hiding behind the tinted windows, waiting to strike.</p><p>Lalo sets his gun against his hip, digging his hand underneath the handle. The door surprisingly pops open, revealing nothing more than a darkened leather seat within its depths.</p><p>Nacho blanches at the sight of keys gripped between Lalo fingers. He reaches forward, wrapping his hand around the man’s palm before Lalo twists in his grip, fixing him with a blank stare.</p><p>“I’ll drive,” Nacho whispers, sounding hoarse. “But you have to let me look at you first.”</p><p>Lalo doesn’t seem to process his words. The man leans back against the side of the car, unblinking as he fixes his gaze towards the house in the distance.</p><p>Nacho has very little to work with in terms of care. He tears a strip of fabric from the bottom of his button-up, forcing his shaking fingertips to fashion a tourniquet above the leaking wound.</p><p>It’s frightening for Nacho to see that Lalo doesn’t even flinch at the action. His eyes remain transfixed on the horizon, searching for something that Nacho cannot possibly fathom. He ties another line of fabric around the gash, unsure if Lalo will even make it across the border, seeing the extent of the bullet’s damage.</p><p>A wet line of moisture travels down his cheek. Disgust for the action makes him wipe a bloody palm against his skin, fixing Lalo with another look as the man continues to stare out into the distance.</p><p>“My dad’s upholstery shop—we can go there. I need to make sure he’s okay,” Nacho murmurs, his voice shaking at the reality of the current situation. “You’ll be safe there.”</p><p>Lalo doesn’t respond. His dark gaze flickers down to Nacho’s face, observing him as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen the other man.</p><p>Nacho’s heart stutters in his chest. He settles one hand against Lalo’s cheek, wanting desperately to somehow apologize for all of this. Distantly, he knows he carries blame right alongside Fring. He knows that he has innocent blood on his hands.</p><p>Lalo doesn’t protest when Nacho brings their foreheads together. The intensity of the man’s stare makes him press closer, dragging his lips against the corner of Lalo’s cheek.</p><p>If Nacho is going to be damned, than he might as well be damned at Lalo’s side.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I apologize for my Spanish, first and foremost. As someone who is actually part Hispanic, I am no longer fluent. Thanks for reading! Again, comments and feedback are always appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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